THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


TALK   AT   A   COUNTRY 
HOUSE 


cy^ 


M- 


• 


. 


m 


* 


THIS    BOOK 

IS  INSCRIBED 

TO   MY   CHILDREN 

WHOSE  LOVE   AND   CARE   HAVE   MADE   FOR   ME 

A  HAPPY  OLD  AGE 

AND   ESPECIALLY  TO 

MY   DAUGHTER   FRANCES 

WHOSE  CONSTANT   AND   UNTIRING   SERVICES 

HAVE   MORE  THAN    SUPPLIED  THE  PLACE 

OF   FAILING   EYESIGHT 

AND   SO   TURNED   LOSS  TO   GAIN. 


CONTENTS 


THE   SQUIRE   AND    HIS   OLD    MANOR    PLACE. 

The  Squire  and  his  old  House.  —  Arrival. —  Talk  about 
Building  Bess.  —  Berowne*s  Oak.  —  Love's  Labour  's 
Lost.  —  Idea  or  Motive  of  the  Play i 


II. 

PERSIAN    POETRY. 

The  Giant's  Wall.  —  The  Rose  Garden.—  Persian  Poetry. 
—  Muhammedan  and  Christian  Mystics. — The  Ata- 
baks.  —  The  Use  and  Disuse  of  Persian  in  India     .     .       14 


III. 


THE  OLD  HALL  AND  THE  PORTRAITS. 

The  Old  Hall.  —  The  Children  dancing.  —  The  Portraits. 
—  John  Locke  and  John  Strachey,  Clive,  Watson,  Kirk- 
patrick. —  Burke  and  Sir  William  Jones.  —  The  Nego- 
tiation with  the  United  States 41 


IV. 

A  GENERAL   ELECTION:    RIGHT  AND  WRONG    IN    POLITICS. 

A  Gener.il  Election.  —  The  Candidature.  —  The  Polling 
Day.  —  Before  and  after  the  Ballot   Act.  —  Counting 


viii  Contents 

the  Votes.  — The  Winner  and  his  Welcome  Home. — 
The  Morality  of  the  Ballot 66 


LOVE   AND    MARRIAGE. 

A  Country  Wedding.  —  The  Village  Church.  —  The  Vil- 
lage Home.  —  Wedding  Breakfasts.  —  Love  and  Mar- 
riage. —  Death  and  Life 94 


VI. 


BOOKS  :    TENNYSON    AND    MAURICE. 

Books.  —  The  Bible  and  Shakespeare.  —  Paradise  Lost 
and  the  Pilgrim's  Progress.  —  The  Riddle  of  the 
Sphinx.  —  Crossing  the  Bar.  —  The  Poet  and  the 
Prophet.  —  The  Crimean  War.  —  The  King's  College 
Story 121 


VII. 


RIDING   DOWN   TO   CAMELOT. 

The  Camelot  and  Arthur  of  History.  — Of  Local  Tra- 
dition and  Legend.  —  Of  Romance.  —  Of  Modern 
Poetry.  —  Chivalry.  —  Sir  Thomas  Malory.  —  Idylls 
of  the  King 150 


VIII. 


THE    ARROWHEADED    INSCRIPTIONS. 

Decipherment.  —  Criticism  and  Divination.  —  Ideographic 
and  Alphabetical  Writing.  —  Assyrian  Annals.  —  Light 
thrown  on  Jewish  History.  —  German  Criticism.  — 
How  estimated  by  Grote 179 


Contents  ix 


IX. 


TAKING    LEAVE. 

laking  Leave.  —  Iimile  Souvestre.  —  Old  Age.  —  Mem- 
ory. —  Pope  and  Parnell.  —  Edward  Lear.  —  A  Retro- 
spect   209 


APPENDIX. 


Introduction  to  the  Bustan  or  Garden  of  Sa'di,  translated 
from  the  Persian 237 


TALK  AT   A   COUNTRY   HOUSE 


THE   SQUIRE   AND    HIS   OLD    MANOR    PLACE. 

And  one,  an  English  home,  —  gray  twilight  pour'd 

On  dewy  pastures,  dewy  trees, 
Softer  than  sleep,  —  all  things  in  order  stored, 
A  haunt  of  ancient  Peace. 

Palace  of  Art. 

While  traveling  abroad  some  years  ago  I 
had  made  the  acquaintance  of  an  old  Somer- 
setshire country  gentleman  :  we  had  become 

"  A  pair  of  friends,  though  I  was  young, 
And  Matthew  seventy-two," 

and  now,  on  my  coming  back  to  England,  he 
had  invited  me  to  pay  him  a  visit. 

The  Squire,  as  his  family  and  his  neighbors 
called  him.  was  past  work,  as  he  used  to  say, 
but  not  past  the  enjoyments  of  an  old  age 
spent  in  the  home  which  he  shared  with  his 
children  and  grandchildren.  And  as  he  loved 
his  bit  of  Chaucer,  he  would  apply  to  himself 
the  description  of  the  Clerk,  — 

"  And  gladly  would  he  lenrn  and  gladly  teach." 


Talk  at  a  Country  House 


He  liked  to  talk  of  the  old  house  which  I  was 
now  about  to  see.  And  I  think  that  my  friend's 
character  as  I  knew  him  had  been  a  good  deal 
formed  by  the  influences  of  the  house  in  which 
he  was  born  and  looked  to  die.  Though  he 
mourned  the  destruction  of  some  very  old  fea- 
tures of  the  house,  and  the  things  in  it,  some 
of  which  had  still  existed  in  his  own  child- 
hood, yet  he  had  made  like  changes  when  he 
himself  came  into  possession ;  and  he  used  to 
say  that  he  had  the  authority  of  Carlyle  and 
Maurice  for  so  doing  —  the  former  advising 
him  ever  to  join  the  new  with  the  old,  and  the 
latter  not  to  scruple  to  make  the  house  he 
was  to  live  in  fitting  in  all  respects  for  his 
own  generation.  He  loved  books  of  all  kinds, 
but  poetry  and  history  most  of  all :  and  I  fan- 
cied when  I  came  to  know  him  in  his  old  hall 
and  parlor,  as  well  as  under  his  old  trees, 
that  these  things  had  both  limited  and  deep- 
ened his  reading.  He  used  to  say  that  his 
motto  was  "  Multum  non  multa,"  which  he 
translated  "  Not  many  things,  but  much  of  two 
or  three." 

He  loved  what  have  been  called  the  by- 
ways of  history.  "  Why,"  he  would  say,  "  go 
along  the  dusty  high  road,  when  you  may  get 
to  the  same  place  by  the  path  across  the  fields, 
and  have  shrubs  and  flowers,  and  the  songs  of 
the  birds,  all  along,  instead  of  the  dust."    And 


The  Squire  and  his  Old  Manor  Place        3 

when  I  reminded  him  of  what  came  to  Chris- 
tian and  Hopeful  in  his  favorite  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress,"  when  they  preferred  the  walk 
through  the  fields,  he  only  answered  with  a 
smile  :  — 

"  John  P. 
Robinson,  he 
Sez  they  did  n't  know  everythin'  down  in  Judee." 

From  the  railway  station  I  drove  along  the 
road  by  which  Leland  had  ridden  four  hundred 
and  fifty  years  before,  when  he  was  on  the  like 
errand  to  my  own,  that  of  visiting  the  old 
Manor  Place  of  Southetoune.  Now,  as  then, 
the  road  was  "  meatly  well  woddyd." 

Evening  was  coming  on  when  I  drove  through 
the  lodge  gates.  The  air  was  resonant  with 
the  cawing  of  the  rooks  as  they  filled  the  sky 
with  the  circles  in  which  they  wheeled  to  and 
fro,  disappearing  in  the  distance,  to  appear 
again,  and  so  gradually  reach  their  roosting- 
trees.  In  spite  of  their  blackness  where  they 
did  not  catch  and  reflect  back  the  rays  of  the 
setting  sun,  I  might  call  them  a  coruscation 
Of  rooks,  so  much    did    tlicy  remind    me   of  the 

Roman  Girandole,  when  the  sky  was  filled  with 
its  countless  flights  of  rockets.  I  saw  before 
me,  and  on  my  right  hand,  two  giant  arbors  — 
"aisles,'"  Tennyson  would  have  called  them  — 
of  lime-trees,  feathering  to  the  ground,  and 
Seeming  to  reach  the  very  sky:   while  between 


Talk  at  a  Country  House 


them  opened  out  an  avenue  of  immemorial 
elms.  On  my  left  I  saw,  as  Leland  had  seen 
them  before  me,  the  old  battlemented  wall  and 
the  square  tower  with  its  corner  turret  rising 
behind  and  above  the  wall,  and  a  succession 
of  gables  on  either  side  ;  and  among  them  I 
saw  one  marked  by  a  cross  which  I  knew  must 
be  that  of  the  chapel  which  my  old  friend  had 
told  me  of,  as  the  work  of  Building  Bess  of 
Hardwicke,  afterwards  Countess  of  Shrews- 
bury. Like  the  Roman  Coliseum  before  it  was 
scraped  by  the  modern  reformers,  the  old  bat- 
tlemented wall  had  a  flora  of  its  own  :  ferns, 
crimson  valerian,  snapdragons,  and  briar  roses, 
and  along  with  these  I  saw  an  ash  and  a  yew 
growing  on  the  battlements,  where  they  had 
been  sown  no  doubt  by  the  rooks.  And  as  I 
passed  through  an  archway  in  the  wall,  the 
whole  house  came  in  view.  It  was  not  a  castle, 
nor  a  palace,  but  it  might  be  called  a  real 
though  small  record  of  what  men  had  been 
doing  there  from  the  time  of  Domesday  Book 
to  our  own. 

The  Squire  welcomed  me  with  his  usual 
heartiness,  introducing  me  to  the  ladies  of  the 
family,  and  then  adding  :  "  But  you  know  Foster 
already  :  you  have  often  met  him  at  Headlong 
Hall.  I  am  glad  he  has  not  brought  Mr.  Escot 
with  him."  The  Squire  was  fond  of  quoting 
Peacock's  derivation  of  the  name  of  Foster  in 


The  Squire  and  his  Old  Manor  Place       5 

'•  Headlong  Hall,"  as  that  of  "  one  who  watches 
over  and  guards  the  light,"  telling  us  that  it 
suited  my  habit  of  asking  questions. 

Next  morning  we  had  breakfast  in  a  parlor 
the  oak  paneling  and  carved  mantelpiece  of 
which,  the  Squire  said,  were  among  the  embel- 
lishments of  the  old  manor  place  made  by 
Building  Bess  of  Hardwicke,  to  one  of  whose 
four  husbands  the  house  belonged.  After 
breakfast  we  walked  together  down  the  steps 
of  the  terraces,  and  through  the  avenue  of 
huge  lime-trees  and  oaks,  which  my  host  told 
me  were  all  planted  by  the  same  great  lady. 
My  thoughts  wandered  from  that  imperious 
dame  to  her  still  more  imperious  mistress, 
Queen  Elizabeth,  and  from  Queen  Elizabeth 
to  Shakespeare,  and  so  to  the  Forest  of  Arden 
and  to  the  park  of  the  king  of  Navarre.  It 
was  in  the  leafy  month  of  June.  The  air  was 
fragrant  with  honeysuckle  and  sweetbrier  grow- 
ing along  the  banks  of  a  brook  hidden  from 
sight,  but  telling  of  itself  by  the  pleasant  noise 
little  waterfall  into  which  it  was  breaking; 
and  the  musical  hum  of  unseen  insects  was  all 
around,  through  which  was  now  and  then  heard 
the  cooing  of  a  wood  pigeon  hidden  somewhere 
in  the  trees.  We  stopped  under  a  great  oak, 
and  sat  down  in  the  shade,  <>n  a  mossy  seat 
formed  by  the  roots  of  the  tree. 


Talk  at  a  Country  House 


"  What  are  you  thinking  of  ? "  said  the 
Squire,  who  had  been  silent  since  he  had  fin- 
ished pointing  out  the  works  of  the  lady  I  have 
named. 

I  answered  that  I  was  thinking  this  was  the 
oak  in  the  branches  of  which  Berowne  lay  hid 
while  he  listened  to  the  talk  of  the  king  and 
his  other  lords. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  call  him,  as  Shake- 
speare himself  did,  '  Berowne.'  I  respect  as 
well  as  like  the  Cambridge  editors,  but  I  can- 
not conceive  why  they  should  substitute  the 
spelling  of  the  Second  Folio,  which  has  no  au- 
thority, for  that  of  the  Quarto  and  the  First 
Folio." 

My  old  friend  seemed  inclined  to  be  warm 
on  this  point,  so  I  turned  the  subject  by  say- 
ing, "  I  know  you  do  not  make  much  account 
of  internal  evidence,  but  do  you  not  think  there 
is  something  in  the  case  of  '  Love's  Labour  's 
Lost '  to  show  that  it  was  one  of  the  earliest  of 
Shakespeare's  plays  ?  " 

The  Squire.  I  can  seldom  find  that  the  so- 
called  internal  evidence  as  to  the  date  of  any 
book  is  more  than  critical,  that  is  more  or  less 
ingenious,  conjecture.  Where  are  you  to  stop 
if,  after  finding  all  the  buoyancy  and  bright- 
ness of  youth  in  this  play,  you  go  on  (like 
Hallam,  if  I  remember  rightly)  to  discover  a 
disappointed,  it  may  be  melancholy,  and  even 


17ie  Squire  arid  his  Old  Manor  Place        J 


a  misanthropical  Shakespeare  in  "  Hamlet  " 
and  "  Timon,"  drawn  from  the  experiences  of 
manhood  and  old  age  ? 

Foster.  I  confess  that  internal  evidence  is 
for  the  most  part  like  a  circle  in  the  water,  — 

"  Which  never  ceaseth  to  enlaTge  itself, 
Till,  by  broad  spreading,  it  disperse  to  nought." 

Yet  does  not  the  circle  start  from  a  real  stone 
thrown  in  ? 

The  Squire.  Or  from  some  bubble  rising 
from  we  know  not  where  ?  Yet  I  am  inclined 
to  yield  to  you  here,  and  to  make  an  exception 
in  favor  of  the  indications  that  this  was  one  of 
the  earliest,  if  not  the  earliest,  of  Shakespeare's 
plays.  Ferdinand  and  Miranda,  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  are  even  more  perfect  representatives 
of  the  youth  and  maiden  than  are  Berowne  and 
Rosaline  ;  yet  while  these  last  require  only  that 
the  poet's  pen  should  be  dipped  in  ink  "  tem- 
per'd  by  Love's  sighs,"  it  may  have  been  that 
the  others  could  not  have  been  depicted  but 
by  an  eye 

"  That  hath  kept  watch  o'er  man's  mortality.'' 

ides,  "I  too  once  lived  in  A  ready,"  and  I 
should  like  to  hear  what  you  have  still  to  say 
of  the  idea,  or,  as  1  suppose  people  would  now 
call  it,  the  motive,  of  "  Love's  Labour  's  Lost," 
and  what  it  may  possibly  tell  us  of  the  poet 
himself,  and  so  of  its  probable  date. 


8  lalk  at  a  Country  House 

Foster.  I  can  hardly  pretend  to  add  any- 
thing to  what  Coleridge  has  already  said  on 
the  subject. 

The  Squire.  There  is,  indeed,  not  much 
more  to  be  said  when  Coleridge  has  spoken, 
and  his  words  have  come  down  to  us  ;  yet  — 
forgive  the  impertinence  —  a  dwarf  on  a  giant's 
shoulders  may  see  farther  than  the  giant  him- 
self. 

Foster.  Artists  say  that  a  portrait,  while  it 
must  be  true  to  nature  and  a  likeness  of  the 
individual  whom  it  represents,  must,  if  it  be 
a  true  work  of  art,  show  the  idea,  or  motive, 
either  of  calm  repose  or  of  the  animation  of 
the  moment  in  which  one  characteristic  expres- 
sion is  passing  into  another.  And  the  motive 
of  this  play  may,  I  think,  be  said  to  be  youth 
at  the  moment  of  passing  into  manhood  and 
womanhood.  Boys  and  girls  become  dignified 
men  and  women  before  our  eyes  ;  and  it  is 
love  which  makes  the  magic  change,  —  a 
change  which  Eerowne  describes  in  words  so 
burning  yet  so  pure  and  chaste,  so  passionate 
yet  spiritual,  that  I,  at  least,  can  never  read  or 
repeat  them  too  often  :  — 

"  Other  slow  arts  entirely  keep  the  brain ; 
And  therefore,  finding  barren  practisers, 
Scarce  show  a  harvest  of  their  heavy  toil : 
But  love,  first  learned  in  a  lady's  eyes, 
Lives  not  alone  immured  in  the  brain  ; 
But,  with  the  motion  of  all  elements, 


The  Squire  and  his  Old  Manor  Place        9 

Courses  as  swift  as  thought  in  every  power, 

And  gives  to  every  power  a  double  power, 

Above  their  functions  and  their  offices. 

It  adds  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye  ; 

A  lover's  eyes  will  gaze  an  eagle  blind ; 

A  lover's  ear  will  hear  the  lowest  sound, 

When  the  suspicious  head  of  theft  is  stopp'd  : 

Love's  feeling  is  more  soft  and  sensible 

Than  are  the  tender  horns  of  cockled  snails  ; 

Love's  tongue  proves  dainty  Bacchus  gross  in  taste : 

For  valour,  is  not  Love  a  Hercules, 

Still  climbing  trees  in  the  Hesperides? 

Subtle  as  Sphinx  ;  as  sweet  and  musical 

As  bright  Apollo's  lute,  strung  with  his  hair: 

And  when  Love  speaks,  the  voice'  of  all  the  gods 

Make  heaven  drowsy  with  the  harmony. 

Never  durst  poet  touch  a  pen  to  write 

Until  his  ink  were  temper'd  with  Love's  sighs  ; 

O,  then  his  lines  would  ravish  savage  ears 

And  plant  in  tyrants  mild  humility. 

From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive  : 

They  sparkle  still  the  right  Promethean  fire ; 

They  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  academes, 

That  show,  contain  and  nourish  all  the  world  : 

I  Ise  none  at  all  in  aught  proves  excellent." 

The  Squire.  They  are  indeed  perfect ;  and 
we  may  well  say  with  ]Serowne  that  when  such 
"  Love  speaks,  the  voice'  of  all  the  gods  make 
heaven  drowsy  with  the  harmony."  Does  not 
Coleridge  say  that  this  speech  is  that  of  the 
very  god  of  love  himself  ?     But  go  on. 

Foster.  The  ladies  in  the  play,  as  in  nature, 
are  at  first  inclined  t"  mike  fun  of  the  serious 
ardor  of  their  admirers,  till  the  whole  scene 
becomes  a  tilting-match  or  tournament  of  wits, 


io  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

in  which — again  with  truth  to  nature — the 
ladies  get  the  better,  and  the  men  confess 
themselves  "beaten  with  pure  scoff."  But  Love 
is  becoming  lord  of  all  with  the  ladies,  too. 
Another  transition  is  marked  when  the  princess 
exclaims,  "  We  are  wise  girls  to  mock  our  lovers 
so  !  "  Then  come  the  tidings  of  the  death  of 
her  father,  the  king  of  France.  In  a  moment 
the  electric  spark  crystallizes  that  life  of  fun 
and  joyousness.  The  generous  and  noble- 
minded  youths  and  maidens  become,  as  I  have 
said,  dignified  men  and  women,  and  turn  to 
the  duties  of  real  life,  though  agreeing  that  the 
new  is  still  to  be  linked  with  the  old.  If  the 
poet  had  told  us  the  real  ending,  he  would 
have  called  the  play  "  Love's  Labour  's  Won," 
and  so  anticipated  the  answer  to  a  still  vexed 
question  of  Dr.  Dryasdust. 

The  Squire.  Well  clone  !  I  wish  every  one 
knew,  and  then  he  would  prize  this  play  as 
you  do.  But  how  does  all  this  prove  the  early 
date  of  the  play? 

Foster.  You  yourself  said  just  now  that  you 
were  inclined  to  recognize  a  distinction  be- 
tween the  creations  of  Ferdinand  and  Miranda, 
and  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  those  of  Berowne 
and  Rosaline.  I  think  this  is  so,  and  that  we 
must  not  look  in  this  play  for  the  expression 
of  that  mature  genius  which  we  find  in  the  later 
works.     But  of  the  genius  itself,  not  yet  ma- 


The  Squire  and  his  Old  Manor  Place      i  r 

ture,  we  have  abundant  tokens  ;  and  here  is, 
in  truth,  one  especial  charm  and  interest  of 
this  play.  How  pleasant  it  is  to  look  at  the 
portraits  of  Milton,  the  child,  the  youth,  and 
the  man,  and  to  trace  the  lineaments  of  moral 
and  intellectual  as  well  as  physical  beauty  in 
their  successive  developments,  —  the  child  sur- 
viving in  the  man,  and  the  man  fulfilling  the 
promise  of  the  child  !  And  though  no  such 
portraiture  of  Shakespeare's  face  in  youth  ex- 
ists for  us,  we  have  the  portrait  of  his  mind  in 
its  successive  stages  of  growth,  if  we  follow 
Ben  Jonson's  advice  and 

"  looke 
Not  on  his  picture,  but  his  Booke ;  " 

and  again  :  — 

"  Look,  how  the  father's  face 
Lives  in  his  issue  ;  even  so  the  race 
Of  Shakespeare's  mind  and  manners  brightly  shines 
In  his  well  turned  and  true  filed  lines." 

The  Squire.  You  remember  that  Ben  Jonson 
said  something  on  the  other  side,  —  that  he 
wished  Shakespeare  had  blotted  a  thousand 
firr 

/  ter.  Yes,  bul  the  reconciliation  is  obvi- 
ous as  we  read  ;  for  we  know  Shakespeare  does 
write  with  an  accuracy  as  well  as  profoundness 
of  thought  whi<  h  must  have  been  the  fruit  of 
the  highest  intellectual  training  and  Culture  : 
with  an  ease  and  a  fluency  of  utterance  which 


1 2  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

sometimes  verges  on  carelessness  and  negli- 
gence of  language,  and  shows  especially  when 
the  poet  is  under  the  influence  of  his  love  of 
fun.  But  his  play  of  "  Love's  Labour 's  Lost  "  is 
remarkable  for  its  careful  accuracy  of  thought 
and  word  even  in  its  fun,  and  indicates  how 
much  Shakespeare  must,  in  the  days  of  his 
earliest  compositions,  have  studied  the  logical 
use  of  language,  even  when  he  is  employing  it 
to  express  the  most  fanciful  conceits  or  the 
most  soaring  imaginations.  The  play  is  full 
of  instances  of  this  careful  composition,  with 
its  regular  balance  of  thoughts,  words,  and 
rhymes  in  the  successive  lines.  This  use  of 
language  is  perfect  in  its  kind  ;  yet  how  dif- 
ferent it  is  from  that  of  "The  Tempest," 
"Othello,"  or  "Hamlet"!  Surely,  the  differ- 
ence between  the  youthful  and  the  mature 
genius  is  plain  enough. 

The  Squire.  Yes,  and  you  have  made  a  good 
defense  —  or  explanation  shall  I  call  it?  —  of 
Coleridge's  saying  that  this  play  is  like  a  por- 
trait of  the  poet  taken  in  his  boyhood.  And 
let  me  confess  to  you  that  when  I  was  young  I 
myself  wrote  an  argument  in  the  same  sense, 
endeavoring  to  show,  by  an  analysis  of  Be- 
rowne's  speech  against  learning,  how  exactly 
it  must  have  represented  Shakespeare's  own 
experiences  and  conclusions  as  to  the  relations 
between  the  study  of  books  and  the  knowledge 


The  Squire  and  his  Old  Manor  Place        13 

of  life,  when  he  first  came  up  to  London  with 
his  small  Latin  and  less  Greek.1 

Then  we  got  up,  and  walked  to  the  wooden 
bridge  which  crossed  the  brook  just  above  the 
waterfall  ;  and  I  saw  the  small  red  and  blue 
dragonflies  and  one  great  brown  one  —  so 
formidable  looking,  though  so  harmless  —  dart- 
ing to  and  fro  over  the  water  ;  and  a  kingfisher 
shot,  flashing  in  the  sunlight,  from  a  hawthorn 
bush  upon  the  bank. 

1  Frasers  Magazine,  January,  1S5S,  p.  41. 


II. 

PERSIAN    POETRY. 

The  roses  of  this  garden  will  not  fade. 


Sa'di. 


The  Squire  loved  his  limes,  elms,  and  oaks, 
but  he  loved  his  roses,  too.  They  festooned 
the  transoms  of  the  old  mullioned  windows  of 
the  parlor,  and  might  be  gathered  from  the  case- 
ment of  my  lady's  chamber ;  and  they  stood  in 
array  under  the  shelter  of  what  still  remained 
of  the  great  battlemented  wall,  which  had  once 
protected  the  house  and  tower  against  arrows 
and  bolts  as  it  still  did  from  the  north  winds. 
The  Squire  told  me  tradition  related  that  this 
wall  was  built  by  the  Norman  giant,  St.  Loe, 
who  lived  in  the  tower.  This  tradition  was  au- 
thenticated by  the  fact  that  a  neighboring  giant, 
Hake  well,  whose  quoit  still  remains  in  witness, 
on  passing  by  asked  what  he  was  building  this 
wall  for ;  and  when  he  was  answered,  "  To 
keep  out  such  fellows  as  you,"  Hakewell  at 
once  stepped  over  it ;  and  the  effigies  of  both 
giants,  one  in  oak  and  the  other  in  stone,  may 
still  be  seen  in  the  parish  church.     Leland,  in- 


Persian  Poetry  15 


deed,  writing  in  Henry  VIII. 's  time,  says  only, 
"  Here  hath  Sir  John  St.  Loe  an  old  manor 
place,"  and  adds  that  the  monument  of  his 
grandfather  is  in  the  church.  Modern  ar- 
chaeologists, moreover,  declare  that  the  quoit 
is  only  one  of  the  huge  Druidical  stones  of 
which  more  than  one  circle  remains  hard  by. 
But  the  wall  itself,  as  I  have  said,  stands  there 
to  testify,  and  to  shelter  the  Squire's  roses. 

He  was  gathering  a  nosegay  of  these  when  I 
joined  him.  As  he  stood  by  a  great  bush  of 
the  kind  called  "  maiden  blush,"  he  gently  shook 
from  a  flower  one  of  those  bright  green  rose- 
chafers  which  live  on  that  rose,  repeating,  as  it 
flew  off,  "  A  mailed  angel  on  a  battle  day."  I 
said,  "  Why  do  you  drive  away  the  pretty  crea- 
ture ?  "  "  Because  I  might  have  '  maiden  shriek  ' 
for  '  maiden  blush,'  "  he  answered,  "  if  I  were  to 
offer  a  young  lady  a  green  beetle  with  my  roses." 
He  walked  toward  a  carriage,  which  I  had  not 
seen  before,  in  which  were  a  mother  and  daugh- 
ter, who  had  been  among  the  visitors,  and  were 
now  taking  leave.  I  could  not  hear  what  he 
I,  as  he  gave  a  nosegay  to  each  lady  with 
his  wonted  old-fashioned  gallantry ;  but  I  might 
guess  that  it  was  "  Sweets  to  the  sweet."  Then, 
as  the  carriage  rolled  through  the  gateway  in 
the  old  wall,  he  turned  toward  the  house,  re- 
peating some  word-,  whi<  h,  loan  the  half-chant- 
ing sound,   I    knew  to  be   something   from   the 


1 6  2\j/k  at  a  Country  House 

Persian,  which  he  was  always  fond  of  quoting 
to  himself.     Then  we  talked  on. 

Foster.  I  like  to  hear  the  musical  and  melo- 
dious sound  of  Persian,  though  I  do  not  under- 
stand the  meaning.  But  were  you  taking  leave 
of  the  ladies  in  Persian  ? 

The  Squire.  Only  a  poet  can  translate  poetry ; 
but  come  into  the  Great  Parlor,  and  I  will  try 
to  find  you  a  better  translation  than  my  own 
would  be  of  what  I  said. 

Foster.  Why  do  you  and  your  children  call 
it  the  "  Great  Parlor,"  while  other  people  call  it 
the  "library"? 

The  Squire.  It  is  the  old  name ;  perhaps 
given  it  by  Bess  of  Hardwicke  herself,  when 
she  built  it,  and  the  chapel  over  it,  because  she 
was  not  content  with  the  "little  parlor,"  which 
was  enough  for  the  forefathers  of  her  husband, 
St.  Loe.  Bookshelves  have  now  taken  the 
place  of  her  oak  paneling ;  but  I  fancy  her 
still  sitting  in  one  of  the  deep  window-seats, 
and  looking  up  at  her  great  coat  of  arms  over 
the  mantelpiece,  impaled  with  that  of  her  hus- 
band, and  with  more  quarterings  than  I  can  re- 
member the  names  of.     Now  for  the  books. 

Foster.  But  you  have  not  yet  told  me  the 
name  of  the  book  you  were  quoting,  nor  its 
author. 

The  Squire.  It  is  the  "  Gulistan,"  or  Rose 
Garden,  of  Sa'di.     Many  who  have  a  far  better 


Persian  Poetry  17 


right  than  I  to  speak  on  the  subject  say  that  it  is 
the  greatest  work  of  the  greatest  of  the  Persian 
poets.  It  has  been  translated  into  Latin,  Eng- 
lish, German,  French,  and  perhaps  other  lan- 
guages. There  are  at  least  four  English  trans- 
lations, which  you  will  find  on  that  shelf. 

Foster.  A  great  witness  to  the  worth  of  the 
original.  How  every  man  who  has  drunk  deeply 
of  Homer,  Horace,  or  Dante  tries  to  translate 
his  favorite  author,  in  order  that  others  may 
share  with  him  the  enjoyment  which,  while  it 
remains  unshared,  seems  scarcely  his  own  ! 

The  Squire.  Every  one  tries,  and  every  one 
fails.  The  thought,  the  habit  of  mind,  is  as 
different  in  one  country  and  one  age  from  that 
of  another  as  is  the  language  ;  and  what  genius 
is  sufficient  to  reproduce  the  original  thought 
in  a  wholly  new  form,  and  to  express  it  in  new 
words  as  exactly  fitted  to  the  thought  as  are 
those  of  the  first  writer  !  The  English  Bible  — 
not  the  Revised  Version  —  is  almost  an  excep- 
tion ;  but  then  Hebrew  thought  has,  through 
long  ages,  become  the  thought  of  Christendom, 
and  is  in  a  measure  as  English  as  English  itself, 
i  :i  so,  it  is  wonderful  that  such  a  translation 
into  such  English  should  have  been  possible. 

/  <.  You  were  to  show  me  a  translation 
of  the   i  which   you   wen-   quoting   from 

Sa'di  :  which  am  I  to  take? 

The  Squire.    That  of  Eastwick  is  probably  the 


1 8  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

most  scholarly,  and  he  represents  the  original 
alternations  of  prose  and  verse  in  a  way  which 
is  often  happy ;  but  I  sometimes  rather  fancy 
the  quaintness  of  Dumoulin.  There  it  is.  But 
if  the  subject  interests  you  enough,  you  should 
read  the  whole  of  Sa'di's  Introduction,  or  pre- 
face, which  in  this,  as  in  his  "  Bustan,"  is  to 
European  taste,  at  least,  the  finest  part  of  either 
book.  But  for  the  "  Bustan  "  I  must  refer  you 
to  a  translation  of  my  own.1  And  then,  after  all 
our  disparagement  of  translations,  if  only  you 
will,  with  Tennyson,  spread  the  silken  sail  of 
infancy  and  call  back  your  old  visions  of  the 
Arabian  Nights,  I  think  you  will  be  repaid  for 
your  trouble,  though  you  do  not  find  all  that 
the  readers  of  the  original  talk  of. 

Foster.  Meanwhile,  Squire,  will  you  give  me 
an  outline  of  the  country  you  advise  me  to 
enter  on  ? 

The  Squire.  The  "  Bustan,"  or  Garden,  and 
the  "  Gulistan,"  or  Rose  Garden,  have  the  same 
idea  or  motive,  though  there  is  great  variety  in 
the  treatment.  The  Introduction  to  each  opens 
with  the  praises  of  God,  taking  as  it  were  for 
text  the  words  with  which  the  devout  Mussul- 
man always  begins  to  speak  or  write,  "  In  the 
Name  of  God,  the  Merciful,  the  Compassion- 
ate." The  outburst  of  beauty  which  clothes  the 
earth  in  the  season  of  spring,  the  gift  of  life  and 

l  See  Appendix. 


Persian  Poetry  19 

articulate  speech  to  man,  the  divine  govern- 
ment of  the  world,  the  blessings  of  which  are 
shared  by  the  good  and  bad  alike,  —  all  these 
declare  the  wisdom,  goodness,  and  greatness 
of  the  Creator,  and  call  for  thankfulness  from 
man.  Sa'di's  piety,  and  the  political  genius 
which  that  piety  inspires  and  informs,  are  very 
striking.  He  writes  in  a  manner  which  reminds 
one  of  the  spirit  of  Isaiah  or  of  Milton. 

Explain  it  or  leave  it  unexplained  as  you 
may,  the  fact  cannot  be  denied  of  the  contrast 
—  the  difference  in  kind  between  the  religions 
of  Greece  and  Rome  and  the  faith  of  Islam,  and 
the  likeness  in  kind  between  the  latter  and  the 
Christian  faith.  And  this  was  evidently  the  gen- 
uine and  practical  faith  of  Sa'di ;  he  was  emi- 
nently a  religious  man,  believing  in  an  actual 
relation  between  God  and  man.  And  the  wreck 
and  anarchy  of  nations  which  the  Tartar  devas- 
tation had  caused  around  him,  contrasted  with 
the  beneficent  reign  of  such  rulers  as  his  own, 
directed  all  his  thoughts  and  hopes  to  the  be- 
lief in  a  constitutional  government  of  the  world, 
old  and  settled  on  the  foundations  of  eternal 
law  and  justice  and  mercy,  under  a  righteous 
king.  The  "  Gulistan  "  opens  with  a  description 
of  springtime:  the  "  Jitistau  "  by  setting  forth 
the  attributes  of  the  Creator.  From  this  praise 
of  the  Creator  Sa'di  goes  on  to  speak  of  the 
Prophet  j  and  then  of  the  righteous  rule  of  the 


20  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Atabak,  or  sovereign,  Aboo-Bakr,  in  whose 
reign  he  was  writing.  In  a  clay  when  the  pros- 
perity and  happiness  of  a  whole  people  were 
always  dependent  on  the  character  of  a  ruler, 
Sa'di  is  never  weary  of  insisting  on  the  duties 
of  kings,  justice,  mercy,  beneficence,  and  the 
maintenance  of  all  these  by  a  strong  hand  ;  and 
while  the  former  annals  of  Persia  treat  of  many 
such  kings,  he  declares  that  none  of  them  was 
more  worthy  than  Aboo-Bakr.  Then,  with  the 
proud  humility  of  a  great  man  conscious  of  his 
genius,  he  says  that  lowly  as  he  is  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  king,  yet  it  is  his  verses  —  the 
pearls  of  poetry  which  he  is  stringing  —  which 
shall  keep  that  king's  memory  alive  in  the  com- 
ing ages. 

Foster.  But,  Squire,  you  have  not  told  me 
what  you  said  after  speeding  the  ladies  on  their 
way. 

The  Squire.  You  find  me  "  as  tedious  as  a 
king,"  though  you  have  not  Dogberry's  appreci- 
ation of  that  virtue.  But  I  was  just  coming  to 
the  point.  Sa'di  goes  on,  in  the  Introduction  to 
each  book,  to  give  his  reasons  for  writing  it,  in 
the  form  of  an  apologue.  In  the  "Gulistan," 
he  tells,  in  a  charming  idyl,  how,  when  he  had 
become  a  dervish,  and  was  sitting  in  the  corner 
of  retirement  and  meditation,  he  was  prevailed 
on,  by  the  entreaties  of  an  old  friend,  to  spend 
the  evening  outside  the  city,  in  a  garden  spark- 


Persian  Poetry  21 

ling  and  fragrant  with  flowers  and  cool  with 
fountains.  In  the  morning,  when  the  desire 
to  depart  had  overcome  the  wish  to  stay,  Sa'di*s 
friend  gathered  a  nosegay  of  roses,  hyacinths, 
and  sweet  basil  for  him  to  take,  but  threw  them 
down  when  the  poet,  reminding  him  that  such 
flowers  must  soon  fade  and  die,  promised  to 
write  him  a  book  which  should  live.  And  on 
the  same  day  he  began  the  "Gulistan." 

Foster.  Then  the  ladies  should  have  thrown 
away  your  roses  while  you  made  your  speech 
in  Persian.  But  what  is  the  corresponding 
apologue  ? 

The  Squire.  In  the  "  Bustan,"  Sa'di  describes 
himself  as  spending  his  days  with  men  of  every 
kind,  in  every  corner  of  the  world,  and  gather- 
ing some  treasure  from  every  store,  and  some 
ears  of  corn  from  every  harvest.  But  he  found 
no  people  like  those  of  Shiraz,  his  native  city. 
He  could  not  leave  such  a  people  empty- 
handed,  and  he  resolved  to  write  a  book  in 
their  honor  and  memory;  to  build  a  palace  of 
art  and  education,  of  which  the  ten  gates,  or 
chapters,  should  be  Justice  and  Judgment; 
ence,  by  which  man  may  show  the  like- 
ness of  (iod;  Love,  not  earthly,  but  divine; 
Humility;  Resignation;  Contentment;  lulu- 
cation  ;  Thankfulness  ;  Repentance  and  Right- 
eousness ;  and  lastly,  Prayer. 

Poster.    Are    not   the    Atabaks,   as    you   call 


2  2  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


them,  the  Atabegs,  as  the  name  used  to  be 
written  before  the  invention  of  the  scientific 
method  of  spelling  Oriental  words  by  help  of  a 
key  ?  If  I  remember  rightly,  it  is  a  Turkish 
word,  meaning  "  Protector  of  the  Prince,"  and 
was  an  official  title. 

The  Squire.  Yes  ;  and  on  the  break-up  of  the 
Seljuk  dynasty,  in  the  twelfth  century  of  our 
era,  like  mayors  of  the  palace  and  other  such 
ministers  in  old  times  and  places,  they  sup- 
planted their  sovereigns,  and  founded  dynasties 
of  their  own.  There  were  four  such  dynasties 
in  Persia,  of  which  that  of  Aboo-Bakr  was  one. 
His  capital  was  Shiraz ;  and  though  the  Turks 
and  Tartars  destroyed  the  civilization  and  cul- 
ture of  the  West,  they  roused  to  new  activity 
the  letters  and  science  which  the  Arabs  had 
carried  into  Persia,  and  those  adjoining  coun- 
tries in  which  Persian  was  the  language  of 
the  court  and  of  literature.  After  allowing  for 
the  flights  of  Oriental  imagination  on  the  one 
hand,  and  for  the  shortcomings  of  a  transla- 
tion on  the  other,  even  the  English  reader  can 
see  that  Sa'di's  thoughts  and  words  of  God 
and  of  man,  of  nature  and  of  civil  government, 
betoken  a  high  degree  of  culture  and  refine- 
ment, and  the  practice  of  wise,  just,  and  right- 
eous government  by  the  kings  ;  and  those  who 
know  the  original  agree  that  for  happiness  and 
beauty  of  imagery  and  language  it  may  com- 


Persian  Poetry  23 

pare  with  the  poetry  of  other  nations,  while  in 
depth  of  pathos  it  far  surpasses  that  of  Greece 
or  Rome.  Persian  poetry  draws  its  main  spirit 
from  Hebrew  and  early  Christian  sources, 
though  through  the  channel  of  Muhammedan- 
ism  ;  and  we  may  say  that  it  rises  above  or  falls 
below  the  classical  standards  much  as  these  do. 

Foster.    What  else  did  Sa'di  write  ? 

The  Squire.  The  list  of  his  works  is  long,  but 
his  "  Diwan,"  or  Collection  of  Songs  of  Mystical 
Piety,  has  been  overshadowed  by  that  of  Hafiz  ; 
and  the  works  by  which  he  is  chiefly  known 
are  those  of  which  we  have  already  spoken. 

Foster.    What  is  known  of  Sa'di  himself? 

The  Squire.  He  mentions  in  several  places 
incidents  in  his  own  life  ;  and  these  were  put  to- 
gether, with  the  addition  of  some  traditions,  by 
a  Persian  writer,  two  hundred  years  later.  He 
is  said  to  have  spent  thirty  years  in  study,  thirty 
in  traveling  in  distant  lands,  and  thirty  in  re- 
tirement as  a  dervish.  He  was  taken  prisoner 
by  the  crusaders  while  practicing  austerities  in 
the  desert,  and  made  to  work  on  the  fortifica- 
tions of  Tripoli  ;  and  he  was  redeemed  by  an 
old  friend,  whose  daughter  lie  afterwards  mar- 
ried. She-  was  a  Persian  Xanthippe,  and  when 
she  cast  in  his  teeth  that  her  father  had  bought 
him  for  ten  dinars,  he  replied  thai  he  had  sold 
himself  again  for  one  hundred,  the  amount  of 
her  dowry.     But,  so  far  as  I  know,  the  fullest 


24  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

account  of  Sa'di  is  to  be  found  in  the  introduc- 
tion to  Harrington's  edition  of  the  works  of 
Sa'di  (Sadee,  he  calls  him),  published  in  Cal- 
cutta in  1791. 

(Here  our  talk  ended,  for  that  morning.  But 
we  returned  to  the  subject  some  days  later  ; 
and  I  now  give  the  substance  of  the  conversa- 
tion which  then  followed  between  the  Squire 
and  myself.) 

Jester.  Since  our  talk  the  other  day  about 
Persian  poetry,  I  have  been  looking  into  the 
books  you  pointed  out  to  me,  and  into  the 
translations  of  Omar  Khayyam  by  Fitzgerald, 
Whinfield,  and  McCarthy,  and  of  Hafiz  by 
Reviski,  Bicknell,  and  Clarke. 

The  Squire.  Omar,  the  skeptic  and  mathema- 
tician, in  the  century  before,  and  Hafiz,  the 
religious  mystic,  in  the  century  after,  that  of 
Sa'di,  the  political  philosopher  and  theologian. 
And,  to  use  a  favorite  Persian  metaphor,  all 
these  pearls  of  poesy  are  strung  on  the  chro- 
nological tables  of  Malcolm's  "  History  of  Per- 
sia ;"  though  he  hardly  mentions  these  or  any 
other  of  the  great  Persian  poets.  But  have 
you  found  any  new  clues  to  the  philosophy  of 
history,  either  with  or  without  the  help  of  our 
Anglo-Persian  Dryasdusts  ? 

Foster.  You  always  laugh  at  my  philosophy 
of  history  ;  but  if  philosophy  is  the  search  for 
wisdom,  and  if  reason  is  ratio,  or  the  relation 


Persian  Poetry  25 


of  things  to  one  another,  why  should  it  be 
unreasonable  to  seek  for  the  relations  of  the 
facts  of  history  ? 

The  Squire.  Not  at  all  unreasonable  to  seek 
what  yet  it  may  be  impossible  to  find.  Bacon 
says  that  all  facts  are  governed  by  laws,  and  that 
these  laws  are  ideas  in  the  mind  of  God  ;  but 
then  another  authority,  not  less  than  Bacon, 
says,  "  His  ways  are  past  finding  out."  It  is  a 
grand  and  glorious  moment  in  a  young  man's  life 
when,  after  years  of  toiling  up  the  schoolboy's 
hill  of  facts,  he  reaches  a  point  at  which  the 
scene  of  history  as  one  great  whole  bursts  on 
his  astonished  view.  I  do  not  forget  the  delight 
with  which  I  first  read  Arnold's  account  of 
Vico's  comparison  of  the  history  of  a  nation 
with  the  life  of  a  man,  with  its  three  stages  of 
childhood,  manhood,  and  old  age  ;  or  again  of 
Comte's  three  historical  periods,  the  theologi- 
cal, the  metaphysical,  and  the  positive,  which 
John  Mill  held  to  throw  such  a  clear  light  upon 
all  history.  But  though  the  facts  remain,  the 
splendors  of  the  fancy  which  surrounded  them 
fade  into  the  light  of  common  day,  and  we  find 
that  in  great  part,  at  least,  we  have  been  like 
the  astronomers  who  thought  they  were  making 
scientific  observations  of  the  parallax,  only  to 
find  that  they  had  been  measuring  the  error  of 
their  instruments.  These  visionary  forms,  these 
Idola  Spccus,  arc  not  to  be  worshiped,  but  to 


26  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


be  strictly  questioned,  in  order  to  know  whether 
there  is  any  reality  in  them. 

Foster.    You   do  think,   then,  that   there  is 
some  reality  in  them  ? 

The  Squire.  Yes  ;  the  universe  of  history,  as 
of  everything  else,  has  no  doubt  coherent  laws  ; 
but  they  require  for  their  comprehension  a 
mind  not  less  infinite  than  the  universe  itself. 
I  am  reminded  of  the  so-called  Oriental  tale  of 
the  alchemist,  who  shows  his  disciple  the  uni- 
versal solvent,  which  he  has  spent  a  lifetime  in 
obtaining,  lying  in  a  crucible  ;  and  the  disciple 
says,  "O  Sage,  be  not  deceived  ;  how  can  that 
which  is  to  dissolve  all  things  be  itself  con- 
tained in  a  ladle  !  "  Youth  is  the  proper  sea- 
son for  these  finite  ideals  of  life,  and  he  who 
knows  the  delight  of  them  will  desire  that  every 
one  should  enjoy  that  season.  But  he  is  not 
the  less  to  be  pitied  to  whom  the  experience  of 
age  has  not  taught,  as  it  taught  Sir  Isaac  New- 
ton, that  we  are  but  children  on  the  shore,  pick- 
ing up  here  and  there  a  pretty  stone  or  shell, 
while  the  great  ocean  of  truth  rolls  its  unex- 
plored waters  before  us. 

Foster.  But  the  shells  and  the  pebbles  are 
actual,  and  really  rolled  in  by  the  sea. 

The  Squire.  True.  And  if  you  will  tell  me 
what  you  have  now  been  picking  up  on  the 
beach  of  Persian  history,  I  shall  listen  with 
profit  as  well  as  pleasure. 


Persian  Poetry  27 


Foster.  I  am  a  seeker,  if  not  a  finder,  and  I 
will  content  myself  with  stating  some  questions 
which  have  occurred  to  me  on  this  subject.  If 
they  have  a  somewhat  theological  coloring,  I 
may  plead  that  if  Gibbon  the  skeptic  classed 
himself  with  the  philosophers  who  held  all  re- 
ligions to  be  equally  false,  Gibbon  the  historian 
recognized  the  important  part  which  religion 
always  plays  in  the  history  of  nations.  So  I 
ask  myself,  Was  there  a  relation  between  the 
greatness  of  the  Persians,  from  the  days  of 
Cyrus  through  so  many  ages,  and  the  national 
faith  in  a  God  of  light  and  goodness,  of  which 
the  sun  was  the  fitting  symbol,  contending 
with  the  spirit  of  darkness  and  evil  ?  Did  some 
defect  or  degeneracy  of  their  faith  cause,  as 
well  as  accompany,  the  break-up  of  the  Per- 
sian empire  at  the  end  of  the  Sassanian  dy- 
nasty ?  When  the  Arab  conquest  established 
the  rule  of  the  Caliphs  on  the  ruins  of  the 
house  of  Sassan,  and  superseded  the  faith  of 
Zoroaster  by  that  of  Muhammed,  was  this  made 
possible,  and  even  easy,  because  the  proclama- 
tion of  an  absolute  and  irresistible  Will  was 
itself  irresistible  while  its  proclaimers  heartily 
believed  it?  When  the  warlike  and  religious 
fervor  of  the  new  faith  had  cooled,  was  the 
skepticism  of  Omar  Khayyam  an  instance,  or 
only  an  accident,  of  the  change?  Did  his 
learned  studies  at  Nishapur  in  mathematics, 


28  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

astronomy,  and  logic,  joined  with  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  facts  of  other  religions  than  their 
own,  make  men  skeptics,  not  only  in  religion, 
but  in  politics?  If  so,  how  could  men  with 
such  a  creed  as  Omar's  resist  the  Tartar  in- 
vaders, those  extraordinary  savages,  whose 
utter  cruelty  of  nature  was  again  and  again 
transformed  into  gentleness  and  political  wis- 
dom by  their  hearty  adoption  of  the  faith  in 
God  and  his  Prophet  which  its  first  promul- 
gators had  almost  lost  ?  Was  not  Sa'di  one, 
and  probably  the  greatest,  of  the  literary  and 
philosophical  teachers  of  age  after  age  of  kings 
and  their  subjects,  of  which  teaching  the  ripest 
fruits  were  seen  in  the  reigns  of  the  great 
Mogul  sovereigns  of  Agra  and  Delhi  ? 

The  Squire.  I  remember  a  discussion,  some 
fifty  years  ago,  in  this  very  room,  between 
Mountstuart  Elphinstone  and  the  old  Bengal 
civilian  who  then  lived  here.  The  latter  asked 
how  it  was  that  while  the  civilization  of  India 
in  the  days  of  Akbar  was  in  many  respects 
superior  (as  he  held)  to  that  of  England  in  the 
days  of  Elizabeth,  Akbar's  contemporary,  the 
one  had  been  continually  advancing  ever  since, 
while  the  other  had  dwindled  almost  to  nothing. 
I  ventured  to  suggest  that  the  difference  was  the 
difference  between  Christianity  and  Muham- 
medanism,  and  Elphinstone  said  he  thought 
so,  too.  But  what  of  Hafiz,  whom  you  just 
now  named  with  Omar  and  Sa'di  ? 


Persian  Poetry  29 


Foster.  I  would  rather  hear  about  him  from 
you.     I  am  certainly  out  of  my  depth  there. 

The  Squire.  So  am  I ;  and  so  was  Hafiz 
himself,  as  he  is  continually  telling  us.  But 
what  would  you  specially  like  to  know  ? 

Foster.  Something  of  the  poet,  and  some- 
thing of  the  religious  mystic,  if  such  he  was. 

The  Squire.  The  "  Diwan,"  or  Collection  of 
the  Odes  of  Hafiz,  is  a  great  book  of  songs 
arranged  alphabetically,  that  is  to  say  that  the 
successive  letters  of  the  alphabet  end  the 
rhymes  of  successive  sets  of  songs.  These 
rhymes  follow  a  different  method  from  our  own, 
or  those  of  other  European  languages,  there 
being  only  one  rhyme,  and  that  a  double  end- 
ing, for  all  the  verses  of  each  ode,  though  the 
words  which  supply  all  these  rhymes  are  differ- 
ent from  one  another,  as  with  us.  The  Persian 
metres,  too,  are  more  stately  than  our  own,  the 
proportion  of  long  to  short  syllables,  as  I  think, 
being  much  greater  in  that  language  than  in 
ours.  The  words  of  the  odes  of  Hafiz  are 
t  musical,  and  the  thoughts  and  images  to 
which  they  are  wedded  do  not  fall  short  of  any 
standard  of  lyric  poetry  which  we  may  supply  : 
they  are  "simple,  sensuous,  and  passionate" 
in  the  sense  of  Milton,  and  are  suecx'ssful  at- 
tempt lo  make  man's  life  harmonious  in  the 
e  of  Carlyle.  You  will  hardly  think  so 
from  any  of   the   translations  you  have  found 


30  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

in  the  library.  I  fancy  our  best  chance  would 
be  if  we  should  ever  have  a  translator  like 
Omar's  Fitzgerald,  who  knows  how  to  para- 
phrase when  a  literal  version  is  impossible. 
Failing  something  better,  here  is  an  attempt 
of  my  own  at  such  a  version  of  his  first 
ode  :  — 

Bring  out  the  wine,  Cupbearer  !     Ho  ! 

Pour  out,  and  high  the  goblet  fill ; 
For  though  at  first  love  smooth  did  flow, 

Its  course  is  crossed  and  troubled  still. 

The  zephyrs  fragrance  round  us  fling, 

As  through  the  Loved  One's  hair  they  play; 

But  for  that  fragrance  which  they  bring 
Our  heart's  blood  is  the  price  we  pay. 

Spill  wine  upon  the  carpet  spread 

For  prayer,  should  so  the  Teacher  say ; 

For  he  by  whom  the  march  is  led 

Must  know  the  customs  of  the  way. 

There  are  who  say  that  on  this  earth 

A  halting-place  may  still  be  found,  — 

A  halting-place  for  rest  and  mirth, 

For  those  upon  life's  journey  bound. 

But  what  of  rest  or  mirth  can  tell 

To  me,  who  ever  and  anon 
Hear  from  each  camel's  tinkling  bell, 

"  Load  up  ;  the  caravan  goes  on  "  ? 

The  night  is  dark  ;  the  waves  strike  fear  : 
The  whirling  waters  how  they  roar  1 

Our  lot  how  should  they  know  who  bear 
Their  own  light  loads  along  the  shore  ? 


Persian  Poetry  31 


Now  all  my  work  in  vain  has  been  : 
Self-seeking  cannot  come  to  good  ; 

The  soul  must  find  that  good  within, 
Not  with  the  worldly  multitude. 

Hafiz,  the  Presence  wouldst  thou  see, 

No  moment's  absence  must  thou  know; 

When  The  Beloved  hath  met  with  thee, 
Give  up  the  world,  and  let  it  go. 

These  verses  may  give  you  but  little  proof 
of  what  I  say ;  but  if  you  knew  the  original  as 
you  do  your  Horace  and  Lucretius,  you  would 
agree  with  me  that  not  only  for  pathos,  but  for 
singular  felicity  of  expression,  too,  the  warning 
sound  of  the  camel's  bell  may  be  compared 
with  the  "  omnes eode?n  cogimur"  of  Horace,  and 
the  contrast  between  the  stormy  sea  and  safe 
shore  with  the  "suave  mart  magno"  of  Lucre- 
tius. 

Foster.  I  will  take  your  comparison  on  trust, 
till  I  get  that  opportunity  of  leisure  and  the 
inclination  to  avail  myself  of  it  which  the  witty 
author  of  "The  Miseries  of  Human  Life  "  says 
it  is  so  impossible  to  find.  Meanwhile,  let  me 
cap  your  Hafiz  with  a  quotation  from  Sa'di 
which  caught  my  eye  in  turning  over  the  pages 
of  Malcolm.      Here  it  is  :  — 

'•  A!. is  f'.r  him  who  is  gone  and  has  done  no  good  deed  I 

The  trumpet  of  march  has  lounded,  and  his  load  i^  not  bound 

on." 

1'hc   Squire.    The    beauty    of    the     image    is 


32  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

brought  out  by  the  variations  ;  and  the  stern- 
ness of  the  duty-loving  Sa'di  contrasts  with  the 
gentle  egotism  of  Hafiz.  You  may  add  another 
parallel  from  the  hopeless  gloom  of  Omar, 
which  in  Fitzgerald's  version  runs  thus  :  — 

"  'T  is  but  a  tent,  where  takes  his  one  day's  rest 
A  Sultan  to  the  realm  of  Death  addrest ; 
The  Sultan  rises,  and  the  dark  Ferrash 
Strikes  and  prepares  it  for  another  Guest." 

Foster.  If  this  ode  is  a  fair  specimen  of  the 
songs  of  Hafiz,  it  would  seem  easy  to  maintain 
the  mystical  interpretation  of  his  poetry.  While 
you  were  reciting  it,  I  thought  of  one  of  Ma- 
dame Guion's  hymns.  I  forget  the  French,  but 
Cowper  has  translated  it. 

"  While  place  we  seek  or  place  we  shun, 
The  soul  finds  happiness  in  none  ; 
But  with  a  God  to  lead  the  way 
'T  is  equal  joy  to  go  or  stay." 

TJie  Squire.  You  may  find  many  such  paral- 
lels between  the  odes  of  Hafiz  and  the  hymns 
of  Madame  Guion  and  other  Christian  mystics. 
I  once  saw  a  letter  to  his  friend  from  a  young 
Anglo-Indian,  one  of  whom  had  turned,  in  ill- 
ness, from  the  poetry  of  Sa'di  and  Hafiz  to  the 
faith  of  Madame  Guion  and  William  Law,  and 
illustrated  the  doctrine  of  the  Christian  mystics 
by  a  string  of  quotations  from  the  Persian 
poets.  And  it  is  related  of  Sir  Gore  Ouseley, 
a  great  lover  of  Persian  poetry,  who  was  Eng- 


Persian  Poetry  ?>Z 


lish  ambassador  to  the  Persian  court  early  in 
this  century,  that  when  he  was  dying,  long 
years  after,  he  prayed  in  Persian.  But  I  must 
confess  that  I  have  softened,  and  even  con- 
cealed, the  original  by  the  word  "  Teacher,"  in 
the  third  stanza  of  this  ode.  It  is,  literally, 
"  the  chief  of  the  Magians  or  infidel  Fire-Wor- 
shipers," and  this,  again,  is  said  to  mean  the 
keeper  of  the  wine-shop ;  and  I  have  given 
the  Sufi  interpretation  of  the  name,  which  is 
that  it  signifies  the  spiritual  teacher  and  guide 
of  man  through  the  hindrances  of  his  earthly 
life  which  beset  his  entrance  into  the  presence 
of  God. 

Foster.  Can  you  give  me  a  more  precise  ac- 
count of  these  Sufis,  and  of  the  position  of 
Hafiz  among  them  ? 

The  Squire.  "  I  know  when  you  do  not  ask 
me,"  as  St.  Augustine  said  of  time.  The  facts 
are  obscure,  from  their  number  and  vastness; 
but  I  will  tell  you  what  little  I  know.  With 
manv  differences,  there  is  much  likeness  anion": 
I  [ebrew  prophets,  the  Christian  monks,  the 
Muhammedan  dervishes,  and  the  Buddhists  of 
India.  In  tiinr-s  fjf  religious  fervor  and  earnest- 
:  ,  they  have  all  more  or  less  made  good 
their  (  hums  to  be  men     « -  n  t  from  Cod  ;  in  after 

days  of  national  degeneracy,  they  have  sunk 
int"  sensuality  and  hypocrisy,  followed  by 
more  or  less  successful  efforts  at  reformation. 


34  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Though  the  Koran  does  not  approve  of  mo- 
nasticism,  and  offers  to  the  true  believer  mainly 
the  enjoyments  of  sense  which  come  of  fight- 
ing and  of  conquest,  still  there  is  a  praise  of 
poverty  and  simplicity  of  life,  and  of  absolute 
prostration  before  the  Divine  Majesty,  which 
may  have  easily  combined  with  the  desire  for 
religious  contemplation  and  for  final  absorp- 
tion into  God  which  came  from  the  farther 
East.  And  thence  came  the  several  orders  of 
dervishes  in  the  Muhammedan  tribes.  When 
the  national  life  of  Persia  was  roused  to  new 
forms  of  energy  by  the  successive  invasions  of 
Arabs  and  Tartars,  there  were  lovers  of  their 
country,  of  whom  Sa'di  was  the  greatest  ex- 
ample, who  were  the  teachers  of  kings  and 
statesmen  and  people,  and  recluses  vowed  to 
philosophy,  poetry,  and  religious  faith.  The 
right  place  for  such  men  seemed  to  them  to  be 
in  the  ranks  of  the  dervishes,  who  were  re- 
spected by  the  haughtiest  kings,  as  the  Chris- 
tian monks  were  by  our  fierce  princes  in  the 
Middle  Ages.  The  Sufis  were,  as  I  understand 
it,  ascetic  and  contemplation-loving  reformers 
among  the  dervishes.  Sufi  means  "  wool,"  and 
the  Sufis  were  so  called  because,  like  Shake- 
speare's Don  Adriano  de  Armado,  they  "  went 
woolward  for  penance."  Sa'di  was  a  Sufi.  So 
was  Hafiz,  though  he  denounces  the  hypocrisy 
of  the  sect. 


Persian  Poetry  35 

Foster.  This  seems  to  me  in  favor  of  the 
religious  interpretation  of  the  songs  of  Hafiz. 
For  how  or  why  should  he  charge  his  brother 
dervishes  with  hypocrisy,  if  he  himself  was 
habitually  practicing  the  same  vice,  and  cloak- 
ing the  mere  love  of  sensual  pleasures  in  lan- 
guage which  the  Sufis  declared  to  be  that  of 
spiritual  and  religious  devotion  and  ecstasy  ? 
Yet,  after  all,  does  not  the  sensuality  seem 
as  real  as  the  spirituality,  and  is  there  any 
reconciliation  or  explanation  of  the  contradic- 
tion ? 

The  Squire.  The  contradiction  is  great  and 
puzzling.  The  question  was  raised  at  the  burial 
of  Hafiz,  when  the  rites  of  an  orthodox  Mu- 
hammedan  were  refused  him  till  an  augury 
had  been  taken  (as  the  practice  still  is)  from  a 
verse  of  one  of  his  odes,  opened  at  hazard,  and 
the  words  were  found  :  — 

"  Turn  not  away  from  the  bier  of  Hafiz, 

For,  though  immersed  in  sin,  he  may  yet  be  admitted  into 
Paradise." 

The  dispute  still  continues,  here  no  less  than 
in  Persia,  and  is  settled  by  every  man  in  ac- 
cordance with  his  own  taste  or  sentiment  and 
estimate  of  the  lif<-  of  man.  But  perhaps  some 
light  may  be  thrown  on  it  by  the  analogies  in 
the  schools  of  Greece  and  the  <  hristian  I  Ihurch. 
The  Socrates  of  the  "  Phaedrus  "  and  the  "  Sym- 
posium "  is  the  very  counterpart  of  the  Sa'di  of 


36  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

the  "  Gulistan  "  and  "  Bustan  "  ;  except  that  the 
Persian  believes  in  a  personal  relation  between 
man  and  his  wise  and  beneficent  Creator,  a 
belief  not  attributed  to  the  Greek  philosopher. 
The  Christian  Church  has  always  accepted  an 
interpretation  of  the  Song  of  Solomon  which 
very  closely  resembles  that  which  the  Sufis 
give  of  their  songs  of  love  and  wine.  I  know 
but  little  of  the  religious  mysticism  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages,  but  I  believe  there  is  much  of  it  of 
which  the  language,  though  not  so  sensual  as 
that  of  the  Muhammedan  Sufis,  can  only  be 
justified  by  interpreting  as  they  do  the  enforced 
asceticism  and  celibacy  of  the  cloister,  which, 
while  maintained  by  faith  and  prayer,  would 
give  the  intensity  of  suppressed  earthly  pas- 
sions to  the  language  of  religious  worship,  and 
especially  in  the  adoration  of  the  Virgin  and 
the  saints.  Then  we  know  how  these  religious 
fervors  of  devotion  have  often  degenerated  into 
mere  sensuality  and  hypocrisy,  in  sects  and  in 
individuals.  If  we  remember  that  the  odes  of 
Hafiz  probably  spread  over  some  fifty  or  sixty 
years  of  his  life,  it  may  not  be  thought  unrea- 
sonable to  conjecture  that  they  express  very 
various  experiences  and  sentiments  of  his  ac- 
tual life.  We  read  of  his  rivalry  in  love  with 
the  prince  of  Shiraz,  of  his  wife  and  his  son, 
and  of  his  secluded  and  religious  life  as  a  der- 
vish.    Some  have  thought  that  traces  of  skep- 


Persian  Poetry  37 


ticism  at  some  period  of  his  life  may  be  found 
in  his  writings.  The  lovers  of  the  higher  criti- 
cism think  that  if  we  had  the  dates  of  the  odes 
some  further  light  might  be  thrown  on  the  sub- 
ject. But  the  chronological  has  been  irrevocably 
merged  in  the  alphabetical  order ;  there  is  no 
evidence  of  what  the  actual  life  of  Hafiz  was 
at  all  or  any  periods  of  it ;  and  we  must  be 
content  to  remain  ignorant,  unless  we  prefer 
the  cloudland  of  conjecture. 

Foster.  Old  Indians  in  the  present  day  do 
not  read  and  repeat  Persian  poetry  as  they  did 
in  the  generation  of  which  I  suppose  we  may 
take  Mountstuart  Elphinstone  as  the  represen- 
tative ? 

The  Squire.  No  ;  a  great  change  was  brought 
about  in  this  respect  by  Lord  Auckland's  abo- 
lition of  the  use  of  Persian  as  the  official  lan- 
guage in  all  but  diplomatic  business. 

Foster.    How  was  that  ? 

The  Squire.  Under  the  Mogul  sovereigns, 
Pi  i  ,ian  was  the  language  not  only  of  the  court, 
but  of  all  government  business,  political,  fiscal, 
and  judicial. 

Foster.  Something,  I  suppose,  like  the  use 
of  Norman- French  in  England  after  the  Con- 
quest;  with  Arabic,  like  our  Latin,  in  the  back- 
ground, for  the  church  and  law?  And  how 
does  Hindustani  come  in  ? 

The  Squire.    Hindustani,   called    in    Persian 


38  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Urdu,  or  "  the  camp,"  in  distinction  from  the 
court,  and  the  word  from  which  we  derive  our 
"horde,"  —  this  is  the  Hindi,  or  vernacular  of 
Hind,  amplified  by  the  introduction  of  Persian 
and  Arabic  words,  though  retaining  the  Hindi 
grammatical  forms,  becoming  thus  a  lingua 
franca  for  popular  use  beyond  its  proper  limits. 
With  the  other  institutions  of  the  Moguls  we 
took  over  the  use  of  Persian  in  all  official  busi- 
ness, and  the  MunshI,  or  Persian  secretary  and 
interpreter,  became  a  part  of  the  staff  of  the 
English  official  in  charge  of  political,  revenue, 
and  judicial  business.  The  language  of  busi- 
ness was  soon  discovered  to  be  the  language 
of  a  new  and  fine  literature  ;  and  the  volumes 
on  those  shelves  illustrate  the  enthusiasm  which 
the  magistrates,  judges,  and  collectors  in  our 
older  provinces,  and  our  administrators  in  those 
newly  annexed,  our  political  agents  and  resi- 
dents in  the  native  courts,  and  our  military 
officers  threw  into  these  studies  from  the  time 
when  Warren  Hastings  set  the  example.  But 
then  a  generation  of  speculative  reformers 
arose,  who  asked  why  we  should  not  act  in  the 
spirit  of  the  Moguls,  and,  instead  of  carrying  on 
their  method  with  literal  servility,  make  English 
the  official  language,  and  so  bring  the  several 
nations  of  India  into  a  new  and  more  intimate 
connection  with  our  own  literature  and  civiliza- 
tion.    A  retired   Bengal  judge  expressed  the 


Persian  Poetry  39 


general  opinion  of  practical  men  when  he  said 
that  you  might  as  well  make  Sanskrit  the  official 
language  in  the  courts  of  Westminster  as  Eng- 
lish in  the  administration  of  justice  in  India. 
He,  indeed,  though  a  man  of  ability  and  emi- 
nence in  the  company's  service,  could  see  no 
inconvenience  in  the  employment  of  Persian  in 
the  administration  of  justice;  and  such  is  the 
force  of  habit  that  when  he  had  occasion  to 
take  notes  of  an  important  trial  at  the  Somer- 
setshire assizes,  he  actually  wrote  them  in  Per- 
sian rather  than  in  the  English  words  in  which 
the  evidence  was  given,  just  as  he  had  done, 
many  years  before,  when  trying  dakoits  at 
Jessore.  But  though  the  general  opinion  of 
the  native  as  well  as  the  English  officials  was 
against  any  change,  Lord  Auckland,  by  the 
advice  of  Sir  Charles  Metcalfe,  took  what  prob- 
ably now  seems  to  every  one  the  obviously 
reasonable  course,  and  by  his  orders  in  1837, 
finally  confirmed  in  1838  by  the  home  govern- 
ment, all  official  business  was  to  be  carried  on 
in  the  vernacular  languages  of  the  country. 
Persian  remained,  and  remains,  the  language 
of  diplomacy.  It  is  not  required  in  any  other 
branch  of  the  public  service  ;  and  it  is  not  pos- 
sible that  men  so  hard-worked  as  our  Indian 
civilians  and  soldiers  now  are  should  find  time 
and  energy  for  a  purely  literary  study.  They 
all  fall  back  on  their  Homer  and  Horace;  or, 


40  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

yet  better,  on  their  Shakespeare  and  Tennyson. 
Cut  enough  of  this ;  you  are,  no  doubt,  already 
silently  quoting  Horace  against  me,  and  repeat- 
ing to  yourself:  — 

"  Persicos  odi,  puer,  apparatus  : 
Displicent  nexae  philyra  corona." 


III. 

THE  OLD  HALL  AND  THE  PORTRAITS. 

There  stately  dame  and  merry  maid, 

And  Knight  with  visage  stern, 
By  limner's  cunning  art  portrayed, 

Their  eyes  did  on  him  turn. 

Old  Song. 

As  we  opened  the  porch  door,  on  coming 
back  from  a  walk,  we  heard  the  sound  of  music. 
The  children  were  dancing  in  the  hall,  —  the 
squire's  grandchildren,  —  led  by  their  young 
aunt,  not  many  years  older  than  the  eldest  of 
them,  while  their  mother  played  the  piano. 
The  hall  still  kept  the  main  features  of  the  old 
manor  place  which  Leland  had  visited.  Along 
the  minstrel's  gallery  were  hung  breastplate, 
steel  cap,  sword,  and  other  pieces  of  armor, 
—  not,  indeed,  of  Henry  VIII. 's  time,  but  of 
that  of  tin:  ( Commonwealth.  The  dais  was  now 
level  with  the  rest  of  tin,-  floor,  and  the  hay 
window  had  become  a  porch;  but  the  squinl 
through  which  the  lord  could  look  into  the  hall, 
after  he  hid  withdrawn  to  the  solar  or  parlor, 
might  still  he  seen,  though  closed  by  the  panel- 
ing on  the  other  side,  supposed  to  be  the  work 


42  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

of  Building  Bess ;  and  the  lines  of  a  huge 
Tudor  arch  showed  where  the  old  fireplace  had 
been.  The  walls  were  hung  with  portraits 
within  a  range  of  nearly  three  hundred  years, 
as  the  Squire  had  informed  me.  There  was  a 
solemn  brightness  in  his  look  as  he  watched  the 
dancers,  and  then  glanced  round  the  walls  ;  and 
he  remarked,  half  to  himself,  "  This  makes  an 
old  man  feel  young  ;  or  indeed,  not  so  much 
young  as  undying,  while  the  past  and  the  future 
are  centred  in  the  present,  in  one  common  life." 

Foster.  How  many  generations  are  there 
now  here  ? 

The  Squire.  Living,  there  are,  as  you  see, 
three,  including  myself ;  in  portraits  of  our 
family,  seven  more.  That  small  portrait  on 
panel,  of  William,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  Shake- 
speare's W.  H.,  is  perhaps  rather  earlier. 

Foster.    How  does  it  come  here  ? 

The  Squire.  There  was  some  link  of  friend- 
ship between  the  Herbert  family  and  that  man 
in  Puritan  bands  and  cloak,  who  was  again  con- 
nected with  us. 

Foster.  I  see  the  Puritan,  and  also  a  Cav- 
alier with  lace  and  velvet  and  flowing  locks, 
while  each  has  by  his  side  a  lady,  the  two  being 
sisters,  apparently. 

The  Squire.  He  was  no  Cavalier,  in  spite  of 
his  dress,  which  indeed,  as  you  know,  was  not 
peculiar  to  the  Cavaliers  even  in  Charles  I.'s 


77/<?  Old  Hall  and  the  Portraits  43 

days.  He  is  John  Strachey,  the  friend  to  whom 
Locke  writes  from  Holland  with  expressions  of 
affection,  and  the  prospect  of  talking  over  many 
things  in  "  the  parlour  at  Sutton."  He  died 
young,  but  the  letters  between  the  friends, 
which  are  still  extant,  show  him  to  have  been 
as  enlightened  as  Locke  himself.  And  I  like 
to  fancy  that  the  armor  still  hanging  there  may 
have  been  worn  by  his  father,  who  was  serving 
with  Locke's  father  in  the  regiment  of  Popham, 
their  near  neighbor  in  those  parts.  Strachey's 
grandfather  framed,  or  helped  to  frame,  the  laws 
of  the  then  newly  settled  colony  of  Virginia  ; 
wrote  verses  prefixed  to  Ben  Jonson's  "  Seja- 
nus  ;  "  and  his  account  of  the  shipwreck  of  Sir 
George  Summers,  with  whom  he  was  at  Ber- 
muda, suggested  some  of  the  incidents  of 
Shakespeare's  "Tempest,"  taken  either  from 
his  narrative,  or,  as  the  learned  Mr.  Furness 
thinks  probable,  from  his  own  lips.  The  la- 
dies are  the  great-granddaughters  of  Thomas 
Hodges,  whose  monument  in  the  parish  church 
of  Wed  more,  famous  for  King  Alfred's  treaty 
with  the  Danes,  tells  how  he,  "at  the  seige  of 
Antwerpe,  about  1583,  with  unconquered  cour- 
age, wonne  two  ensigns  from  the  enemy,  where, 
iving  his  last  wound,  he  gave  three  lega- 
:  his  soule  to  his  Lord  Jesus  ;  his  body  to 
be  lodged  in  Flemish  earth  ;  his  heart  to  be 
sent  to  his  dear  wife  in  England." 


44  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

"  Here  lies  his  wounded  heart,  for  whome 
One  kingdom  was  too  small  a  roome  ; 
Two  kingdoms,  therefore,  have  thought  good  to  part 
So  stout  a  body  and  so  brave  a  heart." 

The  old  ladies  with  prayer-books  are  the  mo- 
ther and  the  grandmother  of  the  young  ladies 
and  of  their  husbands.  And  there,  too,  is 
one  whose  name  we  know,  but  nothing  more, 
except  that  she  died  unmarried,  while  her  por- 
trait shows  a  true  lover's  knot,  and  a  ring  hung 
round  her  neck.  If  the  story  was  one  of  disap- 
pointment and  sadness,  let  us  hope  that  there 
were  peace  and  contentment  in  the  end. 

Foster.  Did  you  keep  up  your  connection 
with  Virginia? 

The  Squire.  Yes.  Two  migrations  are  re- 
corded in  the  family  pedigree.  And  though  the 
male  line  has  ended,  I  still  correspond  with  a 
worthy  representative  through  the  female  line. 
This  gentleman  opened  a  communication  with 
me  after  the  war  of  1861-65,  in  ^ie  troubles 
of  which  he  had  lost  his  family  pedigree,  and 
asked  me  to  help  him  to  supply  its  place  ;  and 
in  token  of  his  claim  he  sent  me  photographs 
of  the  pictures  of  several  of  our  common  an- 
cestors, of  which  the  counterparts  are  now 
hanging  before  you.  I  have,  too,  a  farther 
connection  with  America,  in  which  a  literary 
correspondence  has  ripened  into  warm  per- 
sonal friendship. 


The  Old  Hall  and  the  Portraits  45 

Foster.  I  remember  the  name  of  Henry 
Strachey  in  Mahon's  "History  of  England" 
and  Bancroft's  "  History  of  the  United  States," 
and  in  a  publication  of  the  New  York  Histor- 
ical Society,  called  "The  Treason  of  General 
Lee."     Who  was  this  Henry  Strachey  ? 

The  Squire.  There  is  his  portrait,  —  a  good 
one,  by  Northcote.  When  Lord  Howe  and 
Admiral  Howe  were  sent  out  to  put  down  the 
American  patriots,  Henry  Strachey  was  sent 
with  them  as  secretary  to  the  commission.  Gen- 
eral Lee,  a  soldier  of  fortune,  was  the  next  in 
command  under  Washington,  having  so  great  a 
reputation  that  there  had  been  some  thought  of 
giving  the  first  command  to  him  instead  of  to 
Washington.  He  was  surprised  and  taken  by 
Colonel  Harcourt,  and  during  his  imprisonment 
proposed  a  scheme  to  the  English  commis- 
sioners for  bringing  back  the  country  into  com- 
plete submission  to  England,  which  Mr.  Moore 
justly  calls  by  the  name  of  "treason."  Al- 
though many  important  papers  relating  to 
American  independence  have  been  carried  off 
from  this  house,  we  have  still  a  large  number 
of  interesting  documents  connected  with  the 
period,  as  also  with  the  negotiations  for  peace 
in  1782,  the  calendars  of  which  fill  several 
pages  of  the  appendix  to  the  sixth  report  of  the 
Historical  MSS.  Commission  of  1877.  It  was 
the  same  Strachey  who  negotiated  the  Peace 


46  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

of  Versailles,  which  recognized  the  indepen- 
dence of  the  United  States.  I  have  papers  of 
his,  from  the  secret  instructions  of  Lord  Shel- 
burne  to  the  bills  for  post  horses  between 
Calais  and  Paris. 

Foster.  Why  did  Lord  Shelburne  send  an- 
other envoy,  when  Oswald  was  already  repre- 
senting the  British  government  in  the  negotia- 
tions ? 

The  Squire.  He  had  been  instructed  by  Fox; 
and  after  Fox  had  retired  from  the  ministry, 
on  the  death  of  Lord  Rockingham,  Shelburne, 
now  become  prime  minister,  sent  Strachey  to 
strengthen  the  hands  of  Oswald,  whom  he 
thought  hardly  a  match  for  Franklin,  Gay,  and 
Adams,  and  who,  in  his  anxiety  for  peace, 
"went  before"  the  American  commissioners, 
as  Lord  Shelburne  expressed  it.  We  have  a 
story  that  Oswald  had  his  papers  ransacked 
while  he  was  at  the  opera,  and  that  Strachey, 
to  avoid  such  a  risk,  always  carried  his  in  his 
pocket.  In  the  archives  at  Washington  there 
is  a  once  secret  diary  of  John  Adams  during 
these  negotiations,  in  which  he  says,  "  Strachey 
is  as  artful  and  insinuating  a  man  as  they  could 
possibly  send ;  he  pushes  and  presses  every 
point  as  far  it  can  possibly  go ;  he  has  a  most 
eager,  earnest,  pointed  spirit."  But  the  rivalry 
or  hostility  between  Fox  and  Shelburne  may 
have   had   something   to   do  with   the  double 


The  Old  Hall  and  the  Portraits  47 

negotiations.  Fox  was  ready  to  give  Shelburne 
the  character  portrayed  in  the  caricature  of  the 
"Rolliad:"  — 

"  A  noble  Duke  affirms,  I  like  his  plan : 
I  never  did,  my  lords,  I  never  can  ; 
Shame  on  the  slanderous  breath  which  dares  instill 
That  I,  who  now  condemn,  advised  the  ill. 
Plain  words,  thank  Heaven,  are  always  understood. 
'  I  could  approve,'  I  said,  but  not  '  I  would.' 
Anxious  to  make  the  noble  Duke  content, 
My  view  was  just  to  seem  to  give  consent, 
While  all  the  world  might  see  that  nothing  less  was  meant." 

We  have  a  tradition  that  when  Lord  Shelburne 
was  forming  his  ministry.  Fox  met  Strachey 
one  Sunday  afternoon  in  Hay  Hill,  and  asked 
him  what  he  expected  for  himself,  he  being 
then  Secretary  of  the  Treasury.  On  his  re- 
plying, "  Lord  Shelburne  says  I  am  to  keep  my 
office,"  Fox  rejoined,  "Then,  by  God,  you  're 
out."  But  Fox  was  wrong,  for  Shelburne 
mnde  Strachey  an  Under-Secretary  of  State, 
and  sent  him,  as  I  have  said,  to  carry  forward 
the  Versailles  negotiations. 

Foster.  Lord  Edmund  Fitzmaurice,  in  his 
"  Life  of  Lord  Shelburne,"  has  clearly  shown, 
and  history  now  recognizes,  that  Shelburne's 
uncertain  political  action  was  not  dishonesty, 
but  a  II  milet-like  habit  of  looking  too  much 
ill  sides  of  every  question.  It  would  be 
harder  to  justify  Fox's  coalition  with  Lord 
North.      But    was    not    this    Strachey  also  the 


48  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Indian  secretary  of  Clive,  whose  fine  portrait 
by  Dance  you  have  here,  and  that  seems  to  me 
to  be  the  original,  of  which  I  think  there  is 
more  than  one  replica?  I  remember  that 
Clive,  in  his  defense  before  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, said  that,  of  the  many  services  which 
George  Grenville  had  done  him,  none  was 
greater  than  that  of  recommending  Henry 
Strachey  to  him. 

The  Squire.  Yes.  And  Dance's  portrait  cor- 
responds with  what  we  otherwise  know  of  Clive. 
He  was  coarse,  unscrupulous,  intolerant  of 
opposition,  and,  I  think  we  must  say,  some- 
what rapacious,  though  he  himself  "wondered 
at  his  own  moderation  "  when  he  looked  back 
on  the  treasures  of  Moorshedabad,  of  which 
he  did  not  appropriate  the  whole.  But  he  was 
also  of  political  as  well  as  military  genius ;  and 
he  did  not  hesitate  to  set  public  above  private 
interests,  as  when  he  declared  war  against  the 
Dutch  in  India,  at  a  moment  in  which  they 
held  the  bills  which  represented  his  whole  for- 
tune ;  and  he  was  capable  of  warm  and  faithful 
friendship.     He  was  a  sort  of  Bismarck. 

Foster.  What  a  number  of  false  accounts 
of  his  death  there  have  been,  from  the  con- 
temporary letters  of  Horace  Walpole  and  the 
sayings  of  Dr.  Johnson  down  to  "Notes  and 
Queries,"  only  a  year  or  two  ago,  which  I  think 
you  have  more  than  once  written  to  set  right! 


The  Old  Hall  and  the  Portraits  49 

The  Squire.  I  took  down  my  account  from 
the  mouth  of  the  late  Sir  Henry  Strachey,  who 
had  it  from  his  mother,  who  was  in  the  house 
at  the  time.  Clive  suffered,  till  he  would 
endure  it  no  longer,  from  a  painful  disease,  of 
which  he  says,  in  a  letter  which  I  have  :  ';  How 
miserable  is  my  condition  !  I  have  a  disease 
which  makes  life  intolerable,  but  which  my 
doctors  tell  me  will  not  shorten  it  one  hour." 

Foster.  You  spoke  of  Clive's  political  gen- 
ius ;  you  attribute  to  him  the  foundation  of 
our  Indian  empire,  the  expansion  of  which  has 
been  equaled  by  its  stability,  —  a  stability 
which  could,  at  the  end  of  a  hundred  years, 
stand  such  a  test  as  the  mutiny  of  1857. 

The  Squire.  Alter  Clive  had  defeated  Su- 
raj-oo-Dowlah,  and  set  up  Meer  Jaffier  in  his 
place,  he  left  the  East  India  Company's  factory 
at  Calcutta  to  carry  on  their  trade,  as  before, 
under  a  native,  though  now  not  only  friendly 
but  subservient  prince.  But  the  sudden  acqui- 
sition of  such  enormous  wealth  by  Clive  and 
his  colleagues  in  that  war  had  excited  a  mad 
lust  for  a  like  acquisition  of  wealth  by  the 
company's  servants  left  by  Clive  in  the  man- 
agement of  the  Bengal  factory.  The  East 
India  Company  in  Leadenhall  Street  allowed 
each  of  its  servants  in  Bengal  to  carry  on  some 
private  trading  for  himself,  and  now,  in  de- 
li.nice  of  the  opposition  of  the  governor,  Van- 


50  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

sittart,  who  was,  if  I  remember  rightly,  sup- 
ported by  no  one  but  young  Warren  Hastings, 
they  converted  this  private  trade  into  a  system 
of  mere  extortion  and  robbery  of  the  Nawab 
and  his  subjects.  Meer  Jaffier  was  superseded 
by  Cossim  Ali,  whom  they  hoped  to  make  a 
more  subservient  tool ;  but  he,  too,  after  efforts 
at  conciliation  which  it  is  quite  pathetic  to  read 
of,  was  obliged  to  make  a  stand  for  the  rights 
of  his  people.  War  began,  and  the  directors 
at  home,  alarmed  at  the  danger  of  a  return  to 
a  state  of  things  like  that  from  which  Clive's 
victory  at  Plassey  had  saved  them,  sent  him 
out  again,  in  1765,  to  restore  order.  He  re- 
instated Meer  Jaffier  in  the  Nawabship ;  but 
he  saw  that  the  relations  of  the  company  to 
the  native  rulers  of  Bengal  had  become  so 
changed  that  they  could  no  longer  be  merely 
those  of  merchants  trading  in  a  foreign  country, 
but  must  of  necessity  give  those  merchants  a 
share  in  the  political  government  of  that  coun- 
try. Under  the  Mogul  sovereigns,  the  diwan, 
or  collector  of  the  revenues,  shared  some 
branches  of  the  civil  government  of  the  prov- 
ince with  the  Nawab,  and  Clive,  by  obtaining 
from  the  Mogul  emperor  the  office  of  diwan 
for  the  company,  made  that  beginning  of  polit- 
ical responsibilities,  as  well  as  rights,  which 
was  to  lay  the  foundations  of  our  future  empire 
in  India. 


The  Old  Halt  and  the  J 'or traits  5 1 

Foster.    What  were   the   next  stages  of  the 
structure  raised  on  this  foundation  ? 

The  Squire.  The  Mogul  empire  was  in  ruins. 
It  is  always  best  to  keep  old  forms  as  far  as 
possible,  and  to  make  the  new  life  seem  at 
least  to  grow  out  of  them,  though  it  can  no 
longer  be  infused  into  them.  It  is  our  English 
way,  and  Clive  took  it  when  he  obtained  the 
diwanee  from  the  sovereign  who  had  still  the 
nominal  right  to  grant  it.  But  the  government 
by  the  Xawab,  of  which  it  was  the  complement, 
had  become  little  more  than  a  sham  ;  and,  under 
Warren  Hastings,  this,  too,  was  absorbed  into 
the  English  rule  in  Bengal,  because  Hastings 
found  that  in  no  other  way  was  any  tolerable 
administration  of  justice  possible.  But  there 
was  no  resting  here.  As  the  once  strong  em- 
pire of  the  Moguls  fell  to  pieces,  the  general 
anarchy  gave  opportunity  for  the  rise  of  that 
terrible  race  of  conquerors  and  plunderers,  the 
Mahrattas.  Hastings  saw  that  the  British 
territory  must  be  overrun,  and  perhaps  swal- 
lowed up  in  its  turn,  by  these  locusts,  if  no 
quate  defense  were  provided,  and  he  re- 
sorted to  the  alliance  with  the  Nawab  of  (hide 
which  led  to  the  Rohilla  war,  which  he  held  to 
be  defensible  in  honor  and  justice  no  less  than 
by  expediency.     His  obje<  t  was  to  interpose  a 

Strong  native  state  between  the  Mahrattas   and 
the  British  province.     If  the  Rohilla  chiefs  had 


52  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

been  faithful  to  their  treaty  with  Oude,  Hast- 
ings would  have  supported  their  alliance ;  but 
when  the  Rohillas  opened  their  country  to  the 
Mahrattas  for  the  invasion  of  Oude,  which  must 
have  been  followed  by  that  of  Bengal,  he  held 
himself  called  on  by  expediency,  while  not  for- 
bidden by  good  faith  and  honor,  to  give  the 
Nawab  of  Oude  effectual  support  in  the  con- 
quest of  the  Rohillas,  who  in  fact  had  no  right 
but  that  of  recent  conquest. 

Foster.  After  the  complete  vindication  of 
Hastings  by  Sir  James  Stephen  and  Sir  John 
Strachey  from  the  charges  brought  against  him, 
they  can  hardly  be  renewed  by  any  future  his- 
torian ;  but  it  is  very  difficult  to  understand 
how  those  charges  could  have  been  made  by 
Burke,  more  or  less  sanctioned  by  Pitt,  and 
adopted  as  true  history  by  Mill  and  Macaulay. 

The  Squire.  It  is  difficult.  They  had  before 
them  all  the  evidence  that  we  have  now,  if  they 
chose  to  examine  it ;  and  not  one  of  them, 
whether  as  statesman  or  historian,  had  any 
right  to  make  and  maintain  such  charges  with- 
out such  examination.  It  seems  to  me  no 
justification,  nor  even  excuse  for  Burke,  to  say 
that  he  was  carried  away  by  his  hatred  of  in- 
justice and  oppression,  and  sympathy  with  the 
oppressed,  and  that  he  thus  became  the  victim 
of  the  malignity  of  Francis,  and  of  his  own 
imagination  and   rhetoric.     Such  excuses  may 


The  Old  Hall  and  the  Portraits  53 

serve  an  ill-informed  private  person,  but  not  a 
great  statesman  and  leader  of  men.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  Pitt,  if  he  believed  the  charges, 
as  he  said  ;  while  still  more  unworthy  of  him 
are  the  suggestions  that  he  was  willing  to  let 
the  opposition  waste  their  energies  on  such  a 
subject,  and  that  he  was  jealous  of  the  favor 
which  Hastings  received  from  the  king  and  the 
chancellor.  James  Mill  I  knew,  and  his  treat- 
ment of  Hastings,  though  fatal  to  the  character 
of  an  accurate  and  impartial  historian,  is  less 
hard  to  explain.  His  disposition  was,  like  that 
of  Francis,  malignant.  Coulson  asked  Pea- 
cock of  him,  "  Will  he  like  what  I  like,  and 
hate  what  I  hate  ? "  and  Peacock  replied,  "  No, 
he  will  hate  what  you  hate,  and  hate  what  you 
like."  His  temper  was  eminently  destructive. 
He  did  some  good  service  in  the  pulling  down 
and  destroying  of  much  that  was  utterly  cor- 
rupt and  bad  in  our  political  and  social  condi- 
tion, but  when  good  and  evil  were  intermixed 
he  saw  only  the  evil  ;  and  he  habitually  ima- 
gined it  even  where  it  did  not  exist.  Above  all, 
he  hated  all  men  in  authority.  When  he  wrote 
his  history  of  India,  he  was  prepared  to  see  the 
government  of  India  by  the  company  and  its 
servants  in  the  worst  possible  light.  No  his- 
torian is  really  and  completely  impartial  ;  he 
necessarily  collects  his  materials  in  the  light 
of  some  preconceived  theory  or  plan.       Those 


54  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

extracts  from  the  evidence  as  to  the  govern- 
ment of  Hastings,  which  are  now  shown  to  be 
garbled  by  separation  from  their  suppressed 
context,  no  doubt  seemed  to  him  the  salient 
parts,  because  they  supported  his  foregone  con- 
clusions ;  and  he  was  probably  unconscious  of 
dishonesty  when  he  afterwards  marshaled  and 
embodied  them  in  his  history.  While  we  con- 
demn his  want  of  impartiality  and  the  want  of 
wisdom  in  his  reflections,  we  must  not  overlook 
the  skill  with  which  he  compressed  the  substance 
of  a  volume  into  a  few  pages,  or  the  brilliancy 
with  which  he  described  a  battle.  Then  as  to 
Lord  Macaulay,  the  actual  working  of  the 
judicial  code  which  he  compiled  and  con- 
structed for  India  has  proved  him  to  be  a  great 
jurist;  but  now  that  the  glamour  of  his  rhetoric 
has  faded  into  the  light  of  common  day,  and 
we  see  him  as  he  is,  we  know  that  he  was  the 
most  brilliant  of  rhetoricians,  that  his  great  ac- 
quaintance with  books  was  always  made  sub- 
servient to  his  imagination  and  his  rhetoric, 
and  that  his  gorgeous  essays  on  Clive  and 
Hastings  in  particular  are  merely  imaginative 
reproductions  from  the  pages  of  Mill,  and  with 
no  authority  beyond  his.  It  is  a  pity  that  such 
wealth  of  historical  imagination  as  Lord  Ma- 
caulay possessed  was  not  more  wisely  husbanded 
and  expended  by  him  for  the  benefit  of  others  ; 
for  without  the  help  of  the  historical  imagination 
no  real  study  of  history  is  possible. 


The  Old  Hall  and  the  Portraits  55 

Foster.  I  dare  say  you  remember  the  dig- 
nified but  friendly  expostulation  of  Sir  William 
Jones  in  reply  to  Burke's  insolent  threat  that, 
if  he  heard  of  his  siding  with  Hastings,  he 
would  do  everything  in  his  power  to  get  him 
recalled  ?  The  letter  is  characteristic  of  the 
writer,  —  kind-hearted,  genial,  learned,  over- 
flowing with  intellectual  activity,  and  a  love  of 
display  of  all  these  merits  which  is  pleasing 
from  its  simplicity. 

The  Squire.  Chaucer's  description  of  the 
Sergeant  of  the  Law  still  suits  the  great  lawyer 
even  to  his  love  of  display, — etalage,  as  the 
French  call  it :  — 

"  No  where  so  busy  a  man  there  n'as, 
And  yet  he  seemed  busier  than  he  was." 

Foster.  And  how  gracefully  he  turns  his  ex- 
postulation into  a  compliment,  declaring  that  if 
he  was  ever  unjustly  attacked  (as  in  fact  Burke 
had  threatened  to  attack  him),  he  was  sure 
that  his  friend  would  pour,  in  his  defense,  the 
mighty  flood  of  his  eloquence,  like  'Ao-o-vpiov 
Trora/jLoio  /xeyas  poo?  !  The  letter  is  in  the  third 
volume  of  Burke's  correspondence,  edited  by 
Lord  Fit z william  ;  but  where  does  the  Greek 
come  from  ?      I  have  looked  in  vain  for  it. 

The  Squire.  From  Callimachus's  "  Hymn  to 
Apollo."     The  pa  runs  thus  :  — 

A<T(TVplOV  ITOTajJLOlO  /<  .  bAAA   T'i    rroAA  ( 

Mffiara  yij?  tcai  roAAbv  <</»   v6art  <rvptfx7<n'  7Aitft< 


56  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

While  we  talked,  the  children  left  off  dan- 
cing, and  stayed  playing  in  the  hall,  while  the 
two  ladies  joined  us  as  listeners.  The  younger 
now  said  to  her  father,  "  What  does  that  mean  ? 
You  know,  father,  that  you  do  not  send  me  to 
Girton  or  Somerville  Hall." 

The  Squire  replied  gravely,  — 

"  '  Madam,  the  sentence  of  this  Latin  is, 

Woman  is  mannes  joy  and  mannes  bliss.'  " 

"  But,"  rejoined  the  young  lady,  "  Mr.  Foster 
has  just  said  that  the  words  are  Greek ;  and 
though  Greek  of  Girton  'is  to  me  unknowe,' 
you  have  taught  me  to  understand  Chanticlere's 
Latin  translation." 

The  Squire.  Well,  the  sentence  of  the  Greek, 
in  such  English  as  I  can  muster,  is  :  — 

"  Great  is  the  flow  of  the  Assyrian  river  ; 
But  on  its  waters  it  brings  down  much  filth, 
The  offscouring  of  the  land." 

There  is  at  least  this  resemblance  between  the 
quotations  of  Chanticlere  and  Sir  William 
Jones,  that  each  of  these  polite  gentlemen  con- 
veys a  reproof  in  the  guise  of  a  compliment ; 
and  I  can  tell  you  a  story  which  shows  that  the 
latter,  no  less  than  the  former,  enjoyed  the 
humor  of  his  covert  allusion.  My  uncle  told 
me  that,  when  he  was  a  young  Bengal  civilian, 
he  went  with  some  of  his  fellows  to  dine  with 
Sir  William  Jones.  After  dinner,  the  judge 
told  them  of  his  having  received  from  Burke  a 


The  Old  Hall  and  the  Portraits  57 

most  unbecoming  message  of  threats  of  what 
he  would  do  if  he  heard  that  he  (Sir  William 
Jones)  dared  to  side  with  Hastings.  "  But," 
he  went  on,  "  I  answered  him  by  sending  him 
these  lines  from  Callimachus."  Here  he  re- 
peated some  Greek  lines,  and  continued  :  "  Per- 
haps you  may  not  remember  them "  ("  Of 
course,"  interposed  my  uncle,  "  we  had  never 
heard  of  them  "),  "  but  their  purport  is  this  : 
'The  Euphrates  is  a  noble  river,  but  it  rolls 
down  all  the  dead  dogs  of  Babylon  to  the 
sea.'  " 

Foster.  Rather  a  free  translation,  but  very 
terse  and  epigrammatic. 

The  Squire.  Yes  ;  and  while  the  latent  irony 
in  the  four  Greek  words  of  compliment  in  the 
letter  is  revealed  in  their  context,  it  is  an  irony 
so  fine  that  if  Burke  recalled  the  context  he 
could  hardly  have  resented  it.  And  then  we 
have  the  good  judge  quietly  enjoying  his  own 
wit  and  learning,  while  he  told  his  young  guests 
the  real  meaning  of  his  quotation.  I  ought  to 
tell  you  that  this  dinner-table  incident  must 
have  been  eight  or  nine  years  after  the  date  of 
the  letter. 

Foster.  Though  Sir  William  Jones  lived  be- 
fore Bopp  and  Max  Midler  and  the  age  of 
scientific  philology,  his  Oriental  learning,  rest- 
ing on  his  classical  and  modern  European 
scholarship,  must  have  had  a  great  influence 


53  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

on  those  young  men  who  went  out  from  school 
at  the  age  of  fifteen  or  sixteen,  or  even  earlier, 
to  spend  their  lives  in  India,  in  the  civil  or 
military  service  of  the  company. 

The  Squire.  I  think  and  read  of  the  men  of 
that  generation  with  ever  new  wonder  and  ad- 
miration alike  for  their  moral  and  their  intel- 
lectual virtues.  As  I  remarked  just  now,  the 
conduct  of  the  company's  servants  in  India 
after  Clive  left,  in  1760,  was  infamous.  Under 
Clive's  second  administration,  followed  by  that 
of  Hastings,  there  was  considerable  improve- 
ment, while  under  the  governorship  of  Corn- 
wallis  and  Sir  John  Shore  both  the  services 
rose  to  that  high  condition  and  character  which 
they  have  ever  since  maintained,  and  which  I 
believe  have  seldom  been  equaled  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world  for  incorruptibility,  high- 
mindedness,  and  commanding  genius  in  all  the 
arts  of  peace  and  war  ;  and  all  this  with  a  cor- 
responding love  of  letters  and  literary  culture. 

Foster.  The  personal  character  and  influ- 
ence of  Lord  Cornwallis  and  Sir  John  Shore 
must  have  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  this  gen- 
eral devotion  of  character. 

The  Squire.  No  doubt.  I  remember  the 
younger  Charles  Buller  saying  to  me  that  his 
father,  a  Bengal  civilian  of  that  time,  was  not 
a  man  of  specially  high  sentiment,  but  that  in 
any  doubtful  question  he  would  have  been  sure 


The  Old  Hall  and  the  Portraits  59 

to  ask  himself,  "  What  would  Lord  Cornwallis 
have  thought  of  it  ?  "  And  what  a  meaning  and 
force  there  must  have  been  in  the  words  of  Sir 
John  Shore  to  my  own  father  when  he  first 
came  to  India,  —  "  Don't  call  them  '  black  fel- 
lows.' "  Mountstuart  Elphinstone  arrived  in 
India  just  as  Cornwallis  was  leaving  it;  but  in 
him  we  have  the  very  flower  and  fruit  of  this 
period  in  the  highest  perfection.  When  the 
young  civilian  rode  all  through  the  bloody  bat- 
tle of  Assaye  by  the  side  of  General  Wellesley, 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  that  was  to  be,  and  at 
the  storming  of  Gawalgarh,  the  latter  said  that 
Elphinstone  had  mistaken  his  vocation,  which 
should  have  been  that  of  a  soldier.  But  he 
soon  showed  himself  equally  fitted  for  the  work 
of  a  diplomatist,  in  the  midst  of  the  intricacies 
of  the  policy  of  Lord  Wellesley  in  its  conten- 
tion with  that  of  the  Mahrattas.  In  the  nego- 
tiations which  ended  by  his  cutting  a  way  with 
his  little  force  through  the  army  of  the  Peishwa 
at  Poonah,  he  showed  himself  alike  a  diploma- 
tist and  a  soldier.  In  the  reorganization  of  the 
central  provinces  and  as  governor  of  Bombay, 
—  and  Ik;  would  have  been  governor-general, 
had  his  health  allowed,  — he  proved  himself  to 
be  no  less  able  as  an  administrator  and  a  ruler 
of  men.  And  you  must  not  forget  his  literary 
culture  and  love  of  books,  Greek  and  Latin, 
English  and  Italian,  which  supplied  him  with 


60  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

examples  of  action  as  well  as  language  in  which 
to  describe  it ;  while  his  Persian  studies  awak- 
ened sentiments  deeper  than  those  of  the  clas- 
sical poets,  and  at  the  same  time  gave  him,  as 
it  had  given  Hastings,  the  great  practical  ad- 
vantage of  being  able  to  conduct  the  business 
of  the  hour  with  the  native  statesmen  in  their 
own  diplomatic  language.  The  life  of  Elphin- 
stone,  as  told  by  Colebrooke,  and  again  by 
Cotton,  has  all  the  charm  of  a  romance,  and 
yet  it  is  the  record  of  an  actual  life  of  hard 
work.  I  knew  him  well ;  as  my  father's  life- 
long friend  he  was  the  hero  of  my  boyish  imagi- 
nation, and  after  his  return  from  India  till  his 
death  I  shared  in  that  affectionate  friendship 
by  which  he  endeared  himself  to  all  who  knew 
him.  At  Assaye,  Gawalgarh,  and  Poonah  he 
showed  himself  to  be  "  worthy,"  in  Chaucer's 
sense  of  the  word  ;  and  in  every  other  respect 
he  realized  Chaucer's  ideal  of  "  a  very  perfect 
gentle  knight."  He  was  "  in  his  port  as  meek 
as  is  a  maid,"  —  meek  in  his  unaffected  humil- 
ity; and  indeed  you  may  take  Chaucer's  de- 
scription, word  by  word,  and  you  will  find  the 
counterpart  in  Elphinstone  as  he  actually  was. 
Foster.  You  remind  me  of  Elphinstone's 
own  eulogy  on  Sir  Barry  Close,  and  of  the 
lament  of  Sir  Bors  over  the  body  of  Sir  Launce- 
lot.  But  what  is  your  judgment  of  the  Indian 
policy  of  Lord  Wellesley  ? 


The  Old  Hall  and  the  Portraits  61 

The  Squire  (pointing  to  a  full-length  portrait 
of  a  soldier).  If  that  man  could  come  down 
and  speak,  he  could  answer  your  question 
better  than  I  can. 

Foster.  The  portrait  looks  like  a  Romney, 
but  who  is  the  man  ? 

The  Squire.  He  is  Colonel  William  Kirk- 
patrick,  another  of  those  men  of  action  and  of 
culture  of  whom  we  were  just  now  talking.  He 
was  first  military,  and  then  political  secretary  to 
Lord  Wellesley ;  and  it  is  said  that  when  Lord 
Wellesley  (then  Lord  Mornington),  on  his  way 
out,  found  him  on  sick  leave  at  the  Cape,  his 
plans  of  policy  were  materially  modified,  or 
even  changed,  by  what  he  learned  from  Kirk- 
patrick.  Lord  Wellesley  may  have  been  as 
ambitious  and  unscrupulous  as  Mill  depicts 
him  ;  but  when  I  contrast  the  condition  of  the 
two  hundred  and  fifty  millions  of  men,  women, 
and  children  under  British  rule  or  influence  at 
the  present  day  with  the  terrible  devastation 
and  misery  undur  which  all  India  lay  while  the 
power  of  the  Mahrattas  and  the  Pindarees  re- 
mained unbroken,  I  am  very  little  inclined  to 
condemn  a  policy  whi<  h  did  so  much  to  carry 
forward  the  beneficial  work  which  was  not  pos- 
sible without  the  destruction  <>i  iliose  powers 
of  evil. 

Foster.  Who  is  that  man  in  the  naval  uni- 
form of  the  last  century,  over  Clive's  portrait  ? 


62  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


The  Squire.  Admiral  Watson,  who  took 
Clive's  force  from  Madras  to  the  Hoogly,  and 
supported  his  military  operations  in  Bengal. 
His  name  always  reminds  me  of  an  instance  of 
the  difference  of  an  incident  as  related  by  the 
dignified  Muse  of  History  and  as  told  by  Jack 
to  Harry  as  it  actually  happened.  In  Orme 
and  other  historians  you  will  find  that  Admiral 
Watson  assisted  the  operations  for  the  attack 
on  Calcutta  by  landing  a  party  of  sailors  from 
the  ships  ;  but  it  has  come  to  me  in  tradition 
that  "  Old  Benn  "  (a  member  of  the  Calcutta 
factory,  and  afterwards  Sir  John  Walsh,  by 
virtue  of  the  sign  manual)  told  young  Harry, 
"We  sent  to  Watson  to  let  us  have  some  of 
his  sailors,  and  he  answered,  '  I  will  send  the 
men,  but  don't  make  jackasses  of  them.'  Now, 
the  very  thing  we  wanted  them  for  was  to 
make  jackasses  of  them  ;"  that  is,  to  drag  up 
the  guns. 

Foster.  Is  that  bit  of  paper  with  some  mi- 
nute writing  on  it,  which  I  see  in  a  glass  case, 
one  of  your  Indian  relics  ? 

The  Squire.  You  can  hardly  read  it  without 
a  magnifying-glass,  but  it  is  a  letter  from  my 
father's  half-brother,  Robert  Latham,  to  his 
mother,  from  the  prison  of  Hyder  AH  at  Ban- 
galore. Latham  was  a  Madras  civilian,  who 
volunteered  for  service  in  the  war  with  Hyder. 
He  was  in  Colonel  Baillie's  detachment,  and 


The  Old  Hall  and  the  Portraits  63 

was  among  the  survivors  of  that  desperate  con- 
test of  so  many  hours,  against  overwhelming 
numbers,  which  Mill  has  so  graphically  de- 
scribed. They  endured  a  rigorous  imprison- 
ment in  irons  for  three  years  and  a  half.  This 
letter  could  reach  its  destination  only  by  being, 
as  you  see,  so  written  that  it  could  be  conveyed 
secretly  out  of  the  prison,  inclosed  in  a  quill. 

Poster.  I  remember  that  the  correspondence 
between  the  governor-general  and  Elphinstone, 
in  those  last  days  of  his  residency  with  the 
Peishwa  at  Poonah,  had  to  be  carried  on  by 
quills.  But  does  Latham  tell  much  of  his 
imprisonment  ? 

The  Squire.  We  have  his  story  after  he  was 
again  free ;  but  there  is  something  pathetic  in 
the  fact  that  this  letter  from  the  poor  fellow 
tells  nothing  of  his  imprisonment  except  that 
he  had  then  been  eighteen  months  in  chains,  but 
of  the  grief  with  which  he  thinks  of  his  want 
of  love  and  duty  to  his  mother  in  his  past  life. 
She  was  a  stern  woman,  although  very  kind  to 
her  grandchildren,  of  whom  1  was  one.  Put, 
stern  as  she  was,  we  may  hope  that  she  did  not 
receive  this  letter  with  the  hardness  recorded 
of  the  moth*  1  of  another  of  those  prisoners  of 
Jlyder,  of  whom  it  is  told  that  when  she  heard 
that  her  son  was  chained  to  a  fellow-prisoner, 
she  only  observed,  "  The  man  who  's  chained 
to  our  Davie  will  have  a  gey  time  of  it." 


64  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Foster.  Hurrell  Froude  said  that  a  country 
house  was  of  use  because  it  was  a  place  where 
you  could  keep  things  which  you  did  not  like  to 
destroy,  though  they  were  not  worth  preserv- 
ing ;  but  I  should  rather  say,  where  you  can 
keep  things  worth  keeping,  but  which  would, 
without  its  help,  be  destroyed. 

The  Squire.  I  often  think  so.  This  old  house 
is  of  no  importance  in  itself,  —  it  is  no  Long- 
leet  or  Hatfield, — yet  it  touches  the  main 
course  of  English  history,  from  the  time  of 
Edward  the  Confessor  to  the  present  day,  at 
many  minute  points.  The  little  brook  which 
you  see  there  from  the  terrace  has  no  name, 
and  it  runs  into  a  river  not  known  out  of  the 
county  ;  but  that  stream  runs  into  the  Avon, 
and  the  Avon  into  the  Severn,  which  pours  the 
waters  of  its  smallest  tributaries  into  the  At- 
lantic with  its  own.  And  so  long  as  the  old 
walls  remain  there  will  be  two  or  three  persons 
in  each  generation  in  whom  they  will  awaken 
and  keep  alive  a  sense  of  the  reality  of  English 
history  which  cannot  be  got  by  books  alone. 

Foster.  Then  do  such  thoughts  make  you 
say,  when  you  look  at  these  portraits,  as 
the  monk  said  to  Wilkie  when  looking  on  Ti- 
tian's Last  Supper  in  the  Escurial,  "  These  seem 
to  me  the  real  men,  and  we  the  shadows  "  ? 

The  children  were  still  playing  in  the  hall. 
The  Squire  looked  at  them  and  at  his  daughters, 


The  Old  Hall  and  the  Portraits  65 

and  answered  :  "  I  can  hardly  agree  with  the 
old  monk,  while  I  have  these  witnesses  to  the 
reality  and  the  worth  of  our  actual  life.  Yet 
his  words  were  not  without  meaning." 

Then  the  elder  lady  went  back  to  the  piano, 
and  played  and  sang  "  The  Fine  Old  English 
Gentleman,"  while  her  sister  joined  in  the  re- 
frain. Their  eyes  met  those  of  their  father  ;  and 
he  smiled  approvingly,  but  I  fancied  with  more 
thought  of  the  singers  than  of  the  song,  though 
he  liked  that,  too. 


IV. 

A   GENERAL    ELECTION  !    RIGHT    AND   WRONG   IN 
POLITICS. 

Men  of  Somerset !     Arouse  you  ! 
With  the  vote  the  law  endows  you ; 
Claim  the  right  the  law  allows  you, 
Hear  your  Country's  call! 

Election  Song. 

The  stir  of  a  general  election  broke  in  upon 
the  usual  quiet  of  the  old  manor  house.  The 
Squire's  eldest  son  was  a  candidate  for  one  of 
the  divisions  of  the  county.  The  rooms  in  the 
old  tower  were  turned  into  offices,  in  and  out 
of  which  flowed  daily  streams  of  election  busi- 
ness. There  were  committee-men,  canvassers, 
and  wire-pullers  to  talk  and  be  talked  to ;  ad- 
dresses;  notices  of  meetings;  leaflets,  serious 
and  comic  ;  new  songs  set  to  old  popular  tunes; 
photographs  of  the  handsome  young  candidate, 
with  his  address  on  the  back,  to  be  sent  to 
every  elector;  and  then,  as  the  great  day 
drew  on,  the  thousands  of  cards  to  be  sent  by 
post,  one  to  every  voter,  with  his  name  and 
number  and  polling-place,  and  a  facsimile  of 
the  ballot  paper,  with   an  explanation  how  it 


A  General  Election  67 

should  be  used.  The  candidate's  wife,  zealous 
alike  for  her  husband  and  for  the  cause  he 
represented,  helped  as  only  a  woman  can  help 
in  such  work,  rousing  a  new  enthusiasm  as 
often  as  the  crowd  met  the  carriage  in  which 
she  sat  by  her  husband's  side,  or  as  she  came 
into  the  meeting  with  him,  while  hundreds  of 
voices  joined  in  the  "  March  of  the  Men  of 
Somerset  "  or  "  Wait  till  the  Polling-Day."  The 
candidate  himself,  while  ably  supported  by  the 
leading  men  of  his  party,  understood  his  own 
work  well,  from  his  experience  in  county  busi- 
ness, in  which  he  had  for  some  years  taken  an 
active  part.  The  Squire  wrote  leaflets  and 
songs,  and  took  the  chair  at  such  of  the  meet- 
ings as  were  within  his  reach  ;  and  I  thought 
myself  fortunate  in  this  my  first  opportunity  of 
seeing  both  the  serious  and  the  humorous  side 
of  a  general  election.  The  humor  w*as  for  the 
most  part,  but  not  always,  good  humor.  The 
"civil  dudgeon"  sometimes  "grew  high,  and 
men  fell  out,  they  knew  not  why ; "  or  at  least 
when  they  would  have  found  it  hard  to  explain 
why.  At  one  of  the  meetings  to  which  I  went 
with  my  friends,  a  sound  like  that  of  carpet- 
beating,  at  the  further  end  of  tin:  hall,  made  us 
on  the  platform  wonder  whether  the  wielders 
of  the  sticks  were  not  Irishmen,  instead  of  the 
young  farmers  they  seemed  to  be.  At  another 
meeting,  the  candidate's  brother  stood  for  an 


68  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

hour  apparently  speaking,  but  with  no  sound 
from  his  mouth  being  audible.  On  still  an- 
other evening,  there  were  ominous  signs  that 
our  opponents  had  packed  the  meeting,  and 
might  be  expected  to  storm  the  platform,  when 
a  sturdy  farmer  arrived  with  what  Mrs.  Quickly 
would  have  called  "  a  rescue  or  two,"  and 
which,  with  strategical  skill,  he  formed  into  a 
wedge,  with  a  chimney-sweep  with  brush  and 
bag  at  its  point.  No  one  dared  face  the  in- 
finite possibilities  of  that  brush,  and  the  foe 
was  scattered.  But  our  side  was  generally  the 
popular  one ;  and  on  one  occasion  I  was 
amused  at  seeing  our  assailants  driven  to  take 
refuge  behind  the  candidate's  wife,  as  she  sat 
fearless  on  the  platform,  while  they  tried  to 
assure  her  it  was  for  her  own  safety  that  they 
begged  her  to  escape  with  them  through  a 
window  six  feet  from  the  ground.  But  for  the 
most  part  these  meetings,  of  which  we  had 
sometimes  three  in  one  evening,  and  often  in 
the  open  air,  as  the  time  was  summer,  were 
not  only  friendly,  but  enthusiastic,  as  they 
consisted  chiefly  of  our  own  party.  And  I  was 
much  struck  with  the  seriousness  of  the  people, 
enthusiastic  as  they  were ;  men,  and  women 
too,  were  so  evidently  desiring  to  understand 
the  arguments  of  the  speakers,  and  to  learn 
from  what  they  heard. 

The  writ  had  come  down  to  the  sheriff,  the 


A  General  Election  69 

nomination  had  been  made,  and  the  eve  of  the 
polling-day  had  arrived. 

"  Venit  summa  dies,  et  ineluctabile  fatum." 

At  night  I  went  with  the  Squire  and  his 
youngest  son  and  daughter  to  a  last  meeting, 
while  our  candidate  and  his  wife  went  to  an- 
other. The  enthusiasm  was  great,  yet  I  saw 
something  serious  as  well  as  earnest  in  the 
faces  before  me.  We  knew  that  other  meeting's 
were  being  held  that  night,  and  that  another 
host  was  mustering  for  the  morrow,  arrayed 
against  us,  with  hopes  no  less  high  than  our 
own.  A  solemn  feeling  of  suspense,  and  even 
of  awe,  fell  upon  me,  and  I  doubt  not  on 
those  with  me  ;  and  though  the  battle  was  to 
be  fought  with  ballot  papers  in  orderly  polling- 
places,  I  could  not  but  think  that  as  great 
issues  might  be  at  stake  as  were  at  Agincourt, 
and  that  there  was  no  unfitness  in  recalling  as 
I  did  the  words  of  Shakespeare  :  — 

"  From  camp  to  camp  through  the  foul  womb  of  night 
The  hum  of  either  army  stilly  sounds, 
I  hat  the  fixed  sentinels  almost  receive 

■   •.      ,    •  .  of  eai  h  other's  watch. 
Fire  an  their  paly  flames 

•  i  the  other's  uinber'd  face  ; 

in  high  .mil  boastful  neigbs 
Piercing  the  night's  dull  ear,  and  from  the  tents 
The  armourers,  accomplishing  the  knights, 
With  busy  hammers  closing  rivets  up, 
Give  dreadful  note  of  preparation." 


70  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Then  followed  that  long  clay  of  eager  hopes 
and  fears  and  guesses  at  what  must  remain  un- 
known till  the  morrow,  while  the  rival  candi- 
dates and  their  wives  spent  the  day  in  visiting 
every  polling-place.  They  once  or  twice  met 
and  crossed  each  other,  with  the  courtesy  which 
seldom  fails  English  gentlefolk  under  such  cir- 
cumstances. 

I  am  not  old  enough  to  recall,  but  the  Squire 
has  described  to  me,  the  days  when  the  free- 
holders journeyed  from  every  end  of  the  county 
to  their  county  town,  there  to  choose  two  knights 
of  the  shire  by  acclamation  at  the  hustings,  or, 
if  need  were,  by  voting,  presided  over  by  the 
sheriff,  who  kept  the  poll  open  day  after  day, 
and  even  week  after  week,  as  long  as  there 
was  a  single  voter  to  come  in.  The  several 
forms,  ending  with  that  of  the  two  chosen 
knights,  girded  with  swords,  riding  in  proces- 
sion at  the  head  of  their  supporters,  were  prob- 
ably little  changed  from  the  days  of  Hamden, 
or  perhaps  even  of  Simon  de  Montfort ;  and 
though  the  counties  had  been  divided,  and 
other  polling-places  added  to  that  of  the  county 
town,  the  main  proceedings  were  still  the  same, 
as  the  Squire  has  told  me,  before  the  passing 
of  the  Ballot  Act.  On  the  hustings,  a  great 
wooden  structure  erected  in  the  open  air,  the 
High  Sheriff  presided  over  a  crowd  of  the  free- 
holders and  the  larger  tenants  of  the  county. 


A  General  Election  7 1 

The  Queen's  writ  was  read  ;  the  names  of  the 
rival  candidates  were  proposed  one  after  an- 
other, with  the  shouts  of  their  several  support- 
ers. As  nothing  turned  on  the  decision  of  the 
sheriff,  he  might  be  pardoned  if  he  looked  to 
the  side  of  his  own  party  and  declared  that 
their  ayes  had  it.  His  decision  was  challenged, 
and  the  day  for  the  polling  appointed.  My 
friend  gave  me  an  account  of  his  doings,  both 
as  county  magistrate  and  as  party  committee- 
man, in  his  own  village,  during  one  such  poll- 
ing-day. There  was  a  polling-place  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  his  story  was  this  :  — 

A  few  days  before,  there  had  been  something 
of  an  election  riot  in  a  large  town  some  ten 
miles  off,  and  a  timid  householder  in  the  vil- 
lage, having  taken  it  into  his  head  that  the 
rioters  would  now  march  upon  his  village,  made 
oath  to  that  effect,  and  demanded  the  appoint- 
ment of  special  constables.  The  justices  could 
not  refuse  the  demand,  and  the  Squire  had  to 
swear  in  the  constables,  and  to  provide  them 
with  staves,  for  which  the  county  had  after- 
wards to  pay  a  bill  of  twenty  pounds.  A  strong 
body  of  rural  police  was  also  marched  in. 
Their  superintendent  told  my  friend  —  the  only 
magistrate  there  —  that,  in  the  event  of  a  riot, 
the  special  constables  would  be  of  no  use  if 
they  were  at  the  time  dispersed  among  the 
crowd,  and  that  they  must  be  kept  together  in 


72  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

a  body,  in  case  they  should  be  wanted  to  act. 
So  he  locked  them  all  up  in  the  parish  school- 
room ;  they  meekly  submitting  to  an  order 
which  possibly  the  magistrate  had  no  legal 
power  to  enforce.  He  sent  them  in  some  old 
newspapers,  and  all  the  bread  and  cold  meat 
which  the  committee  of  the  rival  candidates 
had  left  unconsumed  in  the  several  public 
houses ;  and  so  they  were  left,  losing  their 
votes  and  their  share  in  the  general  fun,  till 
the  polling-day  was  over.  The  polling-booth 
was  a  wooden  shed  set  up  on  a  bit  of  open 
ground  in  the  middle  of  the  village,  with  a 
shelter  for  the  officers  and  their  books,  —  a 
shelter  luckily  not  wanted,  as  the  day  proved 
to  be  one  of  bright  autumn  weather.  The 
church  clock  struck  eight,  and  the  Squire,  who 
was  a  keen  party  politician  no  less  than  an  ac- 
tive magistrate,  was  the  first  to  give  his  vote. 
The  incredible  muddle-headedness  of  voters, 
which  is  now  hid  from  all  but  the  presiding 
officer  and  the  personation  agent,  who  sit  in 
secret  conclave  in  the  polling-room,  could  then 
be  witnessed  and  laughed  at  in  open  day. 
There,  for  instance,  was  a  freeholder  who  had 
never  heard  of  the  House  of  Commons,  but 
whose  father  had  turned  a  bit  of  roadside  waste 
into  a  freehold  by  building  a  house  upon  it, 
and  living  there  without  disturbance  from  the 
parish  overseers.     He  had  been  brought  up  by 


A  General  Election  73 

the  zealous  agent  of  one  party,  but  was  now 
clutched  at  by  him  of  the  other  side.  When 
asked  for  whom  he  voted,  he  could  only  look 
scared  and  say  that  he  was  a  stoutish  gentle- 
man with  a  bald  head,  but  he  did  not  rightly 
remember  his  name.  And  then  when  the  poll- 
ing-clerk, who  had  at  first  forbidden  the  rival 
agents  to  interfere,  did  at  last  reluctantly  say 
that  each  might  tell  the  voter  the  names  of  their 
respective  candidates,  the  poor  bewildered  man 
replied  again  and  again,  "That 's  not  the  name," 
till  all  were  exhausted  ;  but  then,  after  there 
was  no  other  to  come,  he  thought  it  was  the 
last  which  he  had  heard,  and  so  voted,  to  his 
own  relief  and  that  of  every  one  except  the 
discomfited  agent.  There  were  no  telegrams 
in  those  days,  but  a  mounted  messenger  came 
in  every  hour  from  headquarters  only  to  report 
to  the  Squire's  committee  that  they  were  losing 
everywhere,  and  to  carry  back  the  like  bad  re- 
port from  them.  Still  they  put  a  good  face  on 
the  matter,  and  kept  their  own  counsel,  in  spite 
of  the  eager  inquiries  from  the  other  side,  who 
for  some  reason  had  not  provided  for  keeping 
themselves  informed  of  their  own  success.  The 
Last  incident  which  the  Squire  told  me  of  was  a 
report  to  his  committee  of  two  voters  still  left 
in  an  outlying  village,  An  omnibus  was  char- 
tered in  hot  haste  ;  the  voters  were  brought  in 
before  the  clock  struck  four,  and  one  voted  on 


74  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


one  side,  and  one  on  the  other.  Then  the 
special  constables  were  set  free  from  a  custody 
which  had  been  inflicted  on  none  but  them- 
selves ;  the  crowd  of  voters  and  non-voters  dis- 
persed in  good  humor,  though  still  in  ignorance 
of  how  the  day  had  gone ;  and  my  friend  went 
home  to  learn  the  full  account  of  the  utter 
beating  his  party  had  received. 

But  these  are  memories  of  an  almost  forgot- 
ten past.  Now  all  these  things  are  shrouded, 
by  the  secrecy  of  the  ballot,  in  a  silence  which 
becomes,  as  I  have  said,  solemn  and  almost 
awful  to  those  to  whom  the  election  is  a  serious 
interest,  as  the  polling-day  goes  on.  At  last, 
then,  night  had  fallen  on  the  fight,  which  was 
lost  and  won,  though  no  one  knew  how  the  day 
had  gone.  Next  morning  the  counting  began 
in  the  Court  House  of  the  principal  town  in  the 
division.  The  sheriff  who  presided  had  given 
me  permission  to  be  among  the  favored  few 
who  were  allowed  to  be  present  during  the 
counting.  These  were  the  candidates  and  their 
wives  and  their  agents  and  the  officials  who 
had  to  count.  The  seals  of  the  several  ballot 
boxes  were  examined  and  broken,  and  the 
number  of  voting  papers  in  each  was  verified  ; 
then  the  whole  were  thrown  together,  "  made 
hay  of,"  and  finally  separated  according  to  the 
names  of  the  candidates  for  which  they  were 
marked.    This  separation  went  on  at  four  tables 


A  General  Election  75 

at  once ;  and  as  each  packet  of  one  hundred 
papers  was  completed,  it  was  filed  with  a  blue 
or  a  red  label,  as  that  candidate's  color  mi<rht 
be,  by  the  counting  clerk,  and  then  handed  by 
him  to  the  agent  of  the  opposite  side.  If  he 
was  satisfied  with  it,  he  handed  it  to  the  other 
agent,  who  made  a  like  examination  ;  and  if 
there  was  —  as  sometimes  happened  —  a  doubt 
as  to  the  meaning  of  the  voter's  mark,  or  any 
other  question  as  to  the  reception  of  the  ballot 
paper,  the  point  was  decided  by  the  sheriff. 
An  equal  number  of  red  and  of  blue  labels  lay 
on  the  table,  for  tying  up  the  successive  packets 
of  a  hundred  ballot  papers  for  one  or  the  other 
candidate.  The  keen  eyes  of  our  candidate's 
wife  were  the  first  to  discover  that  the  wrappers 
of  her  husband's  color  were  exhausted,  while 
several  remained  on  the  other  side.  The  count- 
ing was  soon  finished  ;  the  numbers  were  called 
out  in  the  room  ;  and  the  sheriff  proceeded  to 
announce  the  result  to  the  eager  crowd  which 
was  waiting  outside.  Our  candidate  was  elected 
by  a  majority  of  seven  hundred  and  ninety- 
three  votes ;  and  the  declaration  of  the  poll 
was  received  with  enthusiastic  shouts  by  his 
supporters,  while  those  who  were  there  in  the 
hope  of  another  result  slipped  silently  away. 
The  defeated  candidate  was  not  the  old  mem- 
ber, nor  of  his  party,  but  the  important  ques- 
tion had  been  whether  the  constituency  had,  or 


76  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

had  not,  changed  from  its  old  political  faith. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  popular  feel- 
ing, in  so  far  as  it  could  be  shown  by  public 
meetings,  was  in  my  friend's  favor,  but  nothing 
but  the  actual  poll  could  tell  the  opinion  of  the 
silent  voter,  who  did  not  go  to  the  meetings 
on  either  side.  To  borrow  Burke's  simile,  till 
then  we  had  heard  the  voice  of  the  noisy  grass- 
hoppers, but  the  stately  cattle  were  browsing 
in  silence.  Now  the  newly  elected  M.  P.  knew 
that  a  majority  of  both  were  for  him.  He  had 
to  return  thanks  again  and  again  to  the  crowd 
who  accompanied  him  from  the  town  hall  to 
his  hotel,  from  the  hotel  to  the  railway  station. 
The  carriage  in  which  he  and  his  wife  sat  was 
drawn  —  "hauled,"  as  the  country  people  call 
it  —  by  their  enthusiastic  supporters  through  a 
crowd  which  numbered  thousands,  and  covered 
perhaps  a  mile  of  ground.  We  were  half  an 
hour  in  reaching  the  station,  out  of  which  the 
train  could  hardly  make  its  way.  It  was  a 
triumphal  progress,  for  the  new  M.  P.  was  al- 
ready well  known  in  his  county. 

The  old  Squire,  with  his  younger  children 
and  his  grandchildren,  had  waited  at  home  for 
the  telegram  which  was  to  tell  how  the  battle 
had  gone.  The  news  had  been  telegraphed  in 
various  other  directions.  And  when  we  —  for 
I  had  returned  with  the  new  M.  P.  and  his 
wife  —  reached  the  station  where  our  carriage 


A  General  Election  77 

was  waiting  for  us,  we  were  welcomed  by  a 
band  of  music  heading  a  procession  gathered 
from  many  miles  around.  The  horses  were 
taken  out,  and  the  carriage  was  "hauled"  by 
the  enthusiastic  crowd  through  the  village,  and 
so  up  to  the  old  manor  house.  The  people 
had  of  their  own  accord  put  up  triumphal  arches. 
The  Squire's  younger  children  and  grandchil- 
dren, after  hanging  out  a  great  flag  on  the 
tower,  and  smaller  ones  at  every  window,  had 
joined  the  procession  on  its  road  ;  and  it  at 
last  entered  the  gateway  through  the  old  bat- 
tlemented  wall,  led  by  some  of  the  principal 
tenants,  while  the  band  played  "  Auld  Lang 
Syne,"  and  the  Squire  stood  at  the  door  to  wel- 
come his  son  and  his  son's  wife.  It  was  a 
grand  sight.  I  shall  be  told,  and  shall  grant, 
that  it  is  common  enough  on  such  occasions ; 
but  if  I  am  asked  why,  then,  it  seems  so  striking, 
I  answer  that  it  was  a  grand  sight,  and  a  sight 
to  awake  our  deepest  thoughts  and  feelings,  to 
see  that  multitude  of  faces  of  men,  women,  and 
children,  full  of  gladness  and  of  love  for  those 
whom  they  were  rejoicing  to  honor  while  shar- 
ing their  triumph,  It  was,  and  from  its  nature 
must  he.  a  passing  enthusiasm,  hut  it  was  not 
the  less  real  for  all  that  ;  the  brightness  of  the 
moment  must  soon  fade  into  the  light  of  com- 
mon day,  but  all  had  been  the  better  as  well  as 
the  happier  that  even  for  a  moment  they  had 


78  2\rlk  at  a  Country  House 

been  raised  above  themselves  ;  and  to  many  it 
would  be  a  memory  that  would  never  die. 
The  Squire  and  his  son  each  said  a  few  words 
of  thanks,  which  were  heartily  responded  to. 
The  shadows  of  evening  were  falling  as  the 
band  again  struck  up  "  Auld  Lang  Syne,"  and 
the  people  slowly  filed  through  the  arch- 
way ;  when  the  last  had  disappeared  we  went 
slowly  into  the  house,  and  I  heard  the  old 
Squire  repeat  to  himself,  "  Nunc  Dimittis." 

The  newly  elected  knight  of  the  shire  went  to 
London  to  take  his  seat  at  the  meeting  of 
Parliament,  and  the  Squire  and  I  walked  down 
the  avenue  and  sat  again  under  the  shade  of 
Berowne's  oak,  while  the  gentle  splashing  of 
the  little  waterfall  sounded  in  our  ears,  and  ac- 
companied without  disturbing  our  talk.  The 
Squire  had  been  laughing  at  some  rather  strong 
abuse  of  his  son  in  the  local  paper  which 
represented  the  defeated  party ;  but  as  I  fan- 
cied that  he  might  possibly  be  more  annoyed 
than  he  allowed,  I  said  :  — 

"It  is  really  too  bad  that  a  respectable 
newspaper  should  make  such  grossly  false 
statements  as  to  the  moral  and  intellectual 
unfitness  of  the  successful  candidate,  and  of 
his  election  having  been  due  to  promises  im- 
possible of  fulfillment,  and  to  every  other  kind 
of  influence  which  could  be  exercised  over 
what  they  now  call  an  ignorant  electorate." 


A  General  Election  79 

The  Squire.  That  is  nothing  to  what  the  los- 
ing party  always  says,  though  without  rushing 
into  print,  in  such  days  of  excitement  as  follow 
a  contested  election.  It  is  pretty  Fanny's  way; 
and  the  man  who  wins  can  afford  to  say  with 
the  navvy,  when  they  laughed  at  him  because 
his  wife  beat  him,  "  It  amuses  her,  and  it  does 
not  hurt  me." 

Foster.  I  should  say  "  ugly  Fanny "  and 
her  ugly  way.  I  cannot  help  feeling  more 
annoyed  than  you  seem  to  be. 

The  Squire.  I  am  older,  and  therefore  tougher 
than  you.  When  men  get  upon  politics,  they 
should  allow  each  other  the  liberty  which  each 
claims  for  himself,  of  using  words  in  a  parlia- 
mentary sense,  as  the  phrase  goes.  If  a  cor- 
respondent subscribes  himself  your  obedient 
humble  servant,  you  do  not  therefore  expect 
him  to  wait  on  you  at  dinner,  or  carry  your 
portmanteau  to  the  station.  Lord  St.  Leon- 
ards, in  his  "  Handy  Book  on  Property  Law," 
says  that,  though  the  Court  of  Chancery  will 
enforce  tin-  terms  of  any  contract,  it  will  not 
hold  a  vendor  to  be  bound  by  what  it  calls  the 
ble  of  the  auction-room.  The  language  at 
an  election,  like  that  at  an  auction,  though  it 
may  be  in  the  way  "I  Maine   instead   of   praise, 

is  high-flown,  exaggerated,  and  has  a  conven- 
tional meaning  which  it  does  not  bear  in  ordi- 
nary life.       I  do  nut  defend  it  ;   1  am  sorry  for 


80  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

it,  and  wish  it  could  be  avoided,  especially  as  I 
know  that  some  people  do  more  or  less  accept 
such  language  in  its  ordinary  sense,  and  so 
become  embittered  in  feeling,  whether  they 
believe  the  abuse  to  be  true  or  know  it  to  be 
false.  There  is  plenty  of  evil  in  the  world.  I 
am  sorry  for  it,  but  cannot  help  it.  I  know 
that  the  day  may  be  rainy  and  the  road  muddy  ; 
but  there  is  plenty  of  sunshine,  too,  and  we 
shall  get  to  our  journey's  end,  if  we  do  not 
mind  being  splashed  with  mud  and  getting  a 
little  wet  on  the  way.  Or  you  may  change  the 
metaphor,  and  say  with  the  book  of  Proverbs, 
"  Where  no  oxen  are,  the  crib  is  clean  :  but 
much  increase  is  by  strength  of  the  ox." 

Foster.  Though  I  shall  be  arguing  against 
myself,  I  can  cap  your  quotation  with  a  pas- 
sage which  I  lighted  upon  in  a  pamphlet  in  the 
library,  the  other  day,  and  which  I  think  I 
remember  :  "  The  free  expression  of  opinion, 
as  our  experience  has  taught  us,  is  the  safety 
valve  of  passion.  That  noise  when  the  steam 
escapes  alarms  the  timid ;  but  it  is  the  sign 
that  we  are  safe."  And  again  :  "  I  have  lived 
now  for  many  years  in  the  midst  of  the  hottest 
and  noisiest  of  the  workshops  of  constitutional 
freedom,  and  have  seen  that  amidst  the  clatter 
and  the  din  a  ceaseless  labor  is  going  on  ;  stub- 
born matter  is  reduced  to  obedience,  and  the 
brute  powers  of  society,  like  the  fire,  air,  water, 


A  General  Election  8 1 


and  minerals  of  nature,  are,  with  clamor,  indeed, 
but  also  with  might,  educated  and  shaped  into 
the  most  refined  and  regular  forms  of  useful- 
ness for  man."  1 

The  Squire.    You    have    a   capital    memory, 
and  the  whole  passage  is  worthy  of  Milton  or 
Burke.      The  Old    Parliamentary    Hand   was 
young  when  he  wrote    that;    but    fifty  years' 
experience  has  evidently  only  confirmed  him 
in  his  beliefs.     So  far  as  my  own  observation 
goes,    I    should    say   that    the   fastidious    and 
sensitive  men,  who  try  to  keep  aloof  from  the 
dust  and  din,  and  still  baser  elements  of  poli- 
tics, and   try  to  rise  above  party,  always,  in 
practice,  sink  below  it.    The  only  men  whom  I 
have  known  to  rise  above  party  are  those  who, 
with  moral  and  intellectual  earnestness,  throw 
themselves  sometimes  into  one,  and  sometimes 
into  the  other  party,  as  either  seems  to  them 
right  or  wrong.     That  state  of  negation  which 
the  non-party  man  attains  to  is,  in   practice,  a 
dull,  half-hearted   conservatism,  as  far  inferior 
to  the  true  conservatism  as  to  the  true  liberal- 
i-m.      Think,   too,   of  the  unconscious    selfish- 
ness of   these  men,  who  live  in  the  enjoyment 
of  all  the  infinite   blessings  of  civilization,  and 
have  no  words  <■■•.<  epl  ol  (  ensure  and  contempt 
for  those    by  whose:  bard   work,  with   all  its 

'   Letter    to  the    Right    Rev.    W.    Skinner,   I).  D.,  on  the 
Functions  of  Laymen  in   Church,  by  W.  E.  Gladstone. 


82  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

begriming  incidents,  and  by  that  alone,  all 
those  blessings  have  been  won  and  are  still 
secured  for  them.  "  For  us  was  thy  back  so 
bent,  for  us  were  thy  straight  limbs  and  fin- 
gers so  deformed ;  thou  wert  our  conscript,  on 
whom  the  lot  fell,  and,  fighting  our  battles, 
wert  so  "marred." 

Foster.  Our  conversation  is  getting  to  be  as 
full  of  quotations  as  the  play  of  "  Hamlet ; " 
yet  I  must  add  another,  that  I  may  ask  you 
a  question  about  it.  Do  you  agree  with  Fal- 
staff  that  it  is  better  to  be  on  the  wrong  side 
than  on  none,  and  do  you  think  it  a  shame  to 
be  on  any  but  one  ? 

The  Squire.  To  a  young  man,  like  yourself, 
I  am  always  inclined  to  say  Yes ;  to  an  old 
one,  No.  The  experience  and  observation  of 
years  lead  me  to  contract  rather  than  enlarge 
my  sphere  of  possible  knowledge.  In  politics, 
even  the  statesman  of  genius  rarely  sees  more 
than  his  next  step,  and  only  after  he  has  taken 
that  sees  again  the  next.  To  me  the  pursuits 
of  the  student  of  letters  or  the  student  of 
science  are  far  less  interesting  than  those  of 
the  young  politician  who  aspires  to  the  reali- 
zation of  his  ideals  of  the  constitution  under 
which  he  lives.  As  I  said  the  other  day,  his 
ideal  seems  to  him  complete  and  perfect,  and 
waiting  only  to  be  realized  in  actual  life.  It 
is  well  that  a  man  should  begin  his  study  of 


A  General  Election  83 

life  in  the  light  of  such  an  ideal,  and  that  he 
should  believe  that  it  is  so  true  and  good  that 
any  contradiction  must  be  wrong ;  and  there- 
fore I  said,  in  answer  to  your  former  question, 
that  I  should  say  to  a  young  man  it  was  wrong 
to  be  on  any  side  but  one ;  that  is,  on  the  one 
side  which  represents  and  embodies  his  own 
ideal  of  the  political  life  of  his  country.  By 
all  means  would  I  have  him  enjoy  this  his 
honest  belief;  let  him  share  heartily  the  tri- 
umphs of  the  party  who  hold  up  that  ideal, 
and  in  the  fear  that  its  loss  will  be  the  loss  of 
all  that  a  good  citizen  holds  dear.  If  these 
things  be  absolutely  true  and  right,  then  all 
that  opposes  them  must  be  false  and  wrong. 
But  if  he  has  the  wisdom  and  the  courage  to 
look  and  see  how  his  ideals  stand  the  test  of 
experience,  he  will  again  and  again  see  them 
broken  up  and  set  aside  by  a  force  which  they 
are  unable  to  resist,  while  the  world  not  only 
goes  on  just  as  before,  but  with  such  manifest 
advantage  that  he  is  obliged,  and  eventually 
glad,  to  confess  that  his  ideal  was  not  the 
nl)s<,|iit<-  law  which  governed  the  world  of 
politics,  bul  only  (,iir  small  and  partial  repre- 
sentation of  it.  And  so  the  old  man  ansv 
the  other  half  of  the  question,  and  says  th.it 
it  is  not  a  shame  to  he  on  any  side  but  one 
in  politics. 

Foster.    Then    you  do  not   think  that    there 


84  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


is  a  right  and  a  wrong  side  in  party  politics, 
nor  any  such  difference  between  Conservatives 
and  Liberals  ? 

The  Squire.  Not  a  pin  to  choose,  so  long  as 
the  man  honestly  holds  with  either.  There  is 
often  much  wrong-doing,  much  that  is  evil  as 
well  as  mistaken,  in  each  party;  but  each 
party  represents  one  side,  one  half  of  the  true 
and  the  good,  while  it  opposes  the  other.  It 
does  not  matter  which  leg  you  put  into  your 
breeches  first,  said  Dr.  Johnson,  but  don't 
stand  there  getting  cold  while  you  are  doubt- 
ing which  leg  it  shall  be. 

Foster.  Yet,  Squire,  I  have  heard  you,  at 
our  late  meetings,  stir  the  whole  audience  to 
enthusiasm  by  telling  them  of  the  merits  of 
your  side,  and  the  wrong-doings  of  the  other. 

The  Squire.  That  was  counsel  pleading  for 
client ;  but  the  jury  heard  the  other  side,  too, 
before  their  verdict  was  given.  Judgment  fol- 
lowed, not  for  that  constituency  only,  but  for 
the  whole  nation,  through  its  representatives 
in  Parliament,  and  it  will  be  found  to  be  a 
compromise,  or  "  resolution  of  forces,"  with  one 
step  forward  on  the  line  so  indicated.  Politics 
mean  action,  not  science  nor  even  logic.  New 
things  and  new  conditions  of  things  are  con- 
stantly coming  above  the  horizon,  which  had 
never  been  dreamed  of  by  our  political  philos- 
ophy.    These    demand    action,    not    abstract 


A  General  Election  85 

inquiry,  and  it  is  only  in  and  by  action  that 
the  right  course  is  found.  To  act,  you  must 
take  a  side  ;  you  cannot  be  on  both  sides  at 
once,  though  both  have  to  be  reckoned  with 
in  the  end.  The  final  action  is  really  a  joint 
one ;  not  the  triumph  of  a  victor  over  the 
vanquished.  If  there  were  an  absolute  right 
and  wrong  in  politics,  it  is  inconceivable  that 
the  opinion  of  the  whole  nation  should  be  — 
as  we  know  it  usually  is  —  so  nearly  divided 
that  the  balance  of  parties  is  turned  by  a 
very  small  number  of  votes,  and  that  this 
minority,  though  so  little  less  than  the  major- 
ity, always  acquiesces  in  the  government  of 
that  majority.  And  so  I  say  that  Falstaff's 
doctrine,  which  you  quote,  is  true  if  properly 
understood. 

Foster.  I  should  call  this  the  philosophy  of 
party.  The  practical  view  of  Burke,  that  no 
political  action  can  be  effective  unless  men  act 
together  in  a  party,  and  to  this  end  make 
mutual  concessions  and  compromises  among 
themselves,  always  seems  to  me  intelligible 
and  true,  though  one  often  hears  it  condemned 
by  those  who,  as  you  say,  sink  below  party 
while  professing  to  rise  above  it.  But  when 
you  speak  so  of  the  absence  of  an  absolute 
right  and  wrong  in  politii  3,  and  of  its  being 
the  bu  1  :  a  statesman  merely  to  ascertain 

the  next   step,  and  to  take  that,  may  we  not 


86  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

underrate  the  work  really  done  by  the  great 
men  who  appear  from  time  to  time  as  the  leaders 
of  the  nation  ?  The  British  Constitution  is 
often  compared  to  an  oak ;  may  it  not  as  prop- 
erly be  compared  to  a  castle,  or  palace,  or 
cathedral  ?  May  we  not,  in  Ben  Jonson's 
phrase,  say  that  it  is  made  as  well  as  born,  and 
that  art  gives  the  form  and  fashion  to  nature  ? 
The  Squire.  Illustrations  prove  nothing, 
though  they  often  throw  light  on  a  subject,  and 
make  an  argument  clearer  by  calling  imagination 
to  the  aid  of  reason.  Both  your  illustrations  — 
the  tree  and  the  building  —  are  good.  Either 
will  answer  our  purpose  here.  Let  us  take  the 
oak.  The  oak  has  grown  to  be  what  it  is  in 
accordance  with  a  law  somehow  contained  in 
the  original  acorn.  Its  growth  has  somehow 
(we  know  not  how)  depended  on  the  growth  of 
its  roots  and  branches  ;  and  while  we  cannot 
say  that  any  one  of  these,  however  small,  was 
not  necessary  to  its  growth,  we  may  confidently 
say  that  it  could  not  have  become  what  it  is 
without  the  vigorous  growth  of  its  greater  roots 
and  limbs.  The  whole  is  made  up  of  its  parts, 
and  could  never  have  existed  without  them  ; 
yet  they  have  only  come  into  existence,  and 
still  exist,  as  results  of  the  original  law  in  the 
acorn.  And  so  it  seems  to  me  to  be  with  the 
nation.  It  is  not  a  mere  metaphor  to  say  that 
the  life  of  a  nation  is  a  reality,  a  fact.     This 


A  General  Election  87 

national  life  is  somehow  made  up  of,  or  is  one 
with,  the  life  of  the  men  of  the  nation's  suc- 
cessive generations.  This  life  is  more,  not 
less,  strong  and  active  in  our  great  statesmen 
than  in  our  ordinary  citizens.  While  we  stand 
close  by  some  great  personality  of  our  own 
generation,  and  watch  his  immediate  action,  it 
seems  as  if  his  individual  intellect  and  will 
were  directing  and  driving  the  course  of  events, 
which  he  might  have  made  otherwise  if  he  had 
so  chosen  ;  but  when  an  intervening  distance 
of  time  enables  us  to  see  what  the  whole  course 
of  events  has  been,  we  discover  that,  great  as 
the  man  was,  and  great  as  was  his  mastery  over 
the  events  of  the  hour,  he,  no  less  than  the 
least  important  of  the  men  around  him,  was 
working  in  obedience  to  an  irresistible  law. 
If  you  are  not  afraid  of  the  language  of  Bacon 
and  Milton,  you  may  say  that  this  law  is  an 
idea  in  the  mind  of  God,  which  he  has  called 
on  his  Englishmen  to  carry  out  in  their  na- 
tional life.     Anyhow,  it  is  a  law. 

Foster.  One  question  more.  I  have  heard 
you  tell  more  than  one  meeting  that  the  ballot 
is  secret  beyond  doubt ;  but  what  do  you  say  of 
its  morality  ? 

V/ie  Squire.  I  have  often  wished  to  deal  with 
that  point  while  speaking,  or  in  one  of  our  leaf- 
lets, but,  like  Mr.  1'arker,  have  always  been  de- 
terred by  the  fear  I  should  make  that  "darker 


88  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

which  was  dark  enough  without."  The  question 
is  one  of  casuistry,  a  science,  or  an  art,  in  which 
I  have  little  skill. 

Foster.  Casuistry  has,  no  doubt,  a  bad 
sound,  like  sophistry  and  Jesuitism  ;  yet,  if  the 
case  be  really  one  of  conscience,  it  must  be 
possible  as  well  as  desirable  to  find  some  solu- 
tion of  it ;  and  so  he  must  have  thought  who 
founded  a  professorship  of  casuistry  and  moral 
philosophy  combined  at  Cambridge. 

The  Squire.  Grote  and  John  Mill  had  been 
all  their  lives  in  favor  of  the  ballot ;  but  when  it 
was  at  last  carried  they  were  found  in  the  other 
camp.  The  intimidation  of  the  shopkeepers  by 
their  customers  in  the  great  towns,  for  which 
the  ballot  had  been  demanded  by  the  older 
Radicals,  had  almost  died  out ;  and  it  was 
therefore  surely  better  to  retain  the  more 
manly  form  of  open  voting.  And  there  are  still 
politicians  of  the  study  rather  than  of  the 
market-place,  who  insist  on  the  loss  of  manli- 
ness in  secret  voting,  and  who  overlook  the 
facts  obvious  to  all  who  remember  the  elections 
by  open  voting,  and  know  that  but  for  the 
ballot  the  voting  must  be  carried  on  under 
the  protection  of  soldiers  as  well  as  police,  or 
there  would  be  serious  rioting. 

Foster.  Whatever  the  manliness  of  open 
voting  under  such  protection,  I  admit  that 
without  it  there  could  be  only  the  traditional 


A  General  Election  89 

manliness  of  Donnybrook  Fair.  But  what  of 
the  farm  laborers  and  the  village  shopkeepers 
in  the  counties  ?  We  have  lately  heard  and 
seen  evidence  enough  of  the  great  pressure, 
call  it  legitimate  or  undue,  put  upon  these 
classes  by  the  squires,  the  parsons,  the  farmers, 
and  even  by  their  fellow-workmen.  It  is  at 
their  peril  if  they  do  not  promise  their  vote  to 
the  candidate  for  whom  it  is  demanded.  Ought 
they  to  keep  that  promise  when  given  ? 

The  Squire.  I  might  put  you  off  with  some  of 
the  old  stories  of  the  rustic  humorists  and 
their  evasions  of  the  question  how  they  had 
voted  :  as  when  one  said  that  when  the  friends 
of  the  red  candidate  had  solicited  his  vote  he 
had  pleased  them  by  his  answer :  he  had  no 
less  pleased  the  Primrose  Dame  by  what  he 
promised  her :  and  when  he  went  to  the  poll 
he  pleased  himself.  Or  when  another  told  his 
story  thus  :  "  When  the  blues  asked  for  my 
vote,  I  promised  it  to  them  ;  then  I  promised 
it  to  the  reds  when  they  canvassed  me  ;  and 
when  I  got  into  the  polling-place  by  myself,  I 
said  '  Conscience  forever  !  '  shut  my  eyes,  and 
made  a  cross  somewhere  on  the  paper,  and 
nol  even  I  know  how  I  voted."  But  I  am 
afraid  this  will  hardly  answer  your  question. 

Foster.  Not  quite.  I  think  no  one  can 
read  the  clauses  of  the  Ballot  Act  without  see- 
ing that  the  act  intends  and  provides  not  only 


90  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

that  it  shall  be  unlawful  for  any  man  to  try  to 
find  out  how  another  has  voted,  but  also  that 
the  voter  shall  be  able  to  mislead  and  deceive 
the  man  who  does  make  the  attempt.  But  is 
such  deception  moral  as  well  as  legal  ? 

The  Squire.  If  the  voter's  position  is  such 
that  he  incurs  only  some  social  disfavor  among 
his  neighbors  if  he  does  not  deceive  them  as 
to  his  vote,  we  should  only  pity  his  cowardice  ; 
but  if  he  is  a  poor  man,  a  laborer  or  a  small 
shopkeeper,  who  will  really  lose  his  work,  or 
the  custom  on  which  his  livelihood  depends,  if 
he  is  known  to  have  voted  against  the  will  of 
his  employer  or  customer,  the  case  is  different. 
Should  he  have  no  wife  or  child,  he  will  no 
doubt  take  the  manlier  and  the  better  course  if 
he  defies  the  intimidator  and  takes  the  conse- 
quence of  refusing  to  say  how  he  voted,  though 
I,  at  least,  will  not  say  that  every  man  is  to  be 
condemned  who  has  not  the  courage  to  be  a 
martyr.  But  if  martyrdom  is  the  nobler  course 
when  the  sacrifice  is  only  of  the  man  himself, 
what  if  it  includes  his  wife  and  children  ?  We 
know  the  horrible  story  of  the  Scottish  Cove- 
nanter who  was  urged  to  recant  by  the  torture, 
not  of  himself,  but  of  his  child  stretched  on 
the  rack  before  his  eyes.  I  cannot  think  that 
a  man  is  called  to  endure  such  martyrdom  as 
that.  I  say  that  all  the  guilt,  not  part  of  it, 
lies   on  the  head  of  the  questioner  ;    and   the 


A  General  Election  91 

voter  who  is  asked  how  he  voted,  and  knows 
that  the  ruin  of  his  wife  and  children  hangs 
on  his  answer,  not  only  has  a  moral  right  to 
deceive  the  man  who  asks  the  question,  but 
ought  to  deceive  him. 

Foster.  Even  to  telling  a  direct  lie  ?  I  do 
not  know  why  it  is,  but  we  always  seem  to 
make  a  distinction  between  a  lie  and  an 
evasion,  and  to  shrink  from  telling  a  lie,  even 
while  we  think  ourselves  justified  in  resorting 
to  an  evasion  which  we  mean  to  have  the 
exact  effect  of  the  lie. 

The  Squire.  It  is  an  instinct,  or  a  habit,  which 
keeps  us  out  of  much  mischief  in  ordinary  life, 
though  the  Gospel  seems  to  declare  that  the 
state  of  the  heart  is  to  be  looked  to,  rather 
than  the  outward  deed.  And  here  the  motive 
is  good,  though  the  act  is  not  so.  People  who 
sit  comfortably  in  their  armchairs  and  con- 
demn the  wickedness  of  the  poor  man  who 
tells  his  employer  a  lie  as  to  the  way  he  voted 
do  not  look  at  the  whole  case.  The  Constitu- 
tion gives  the  man  a  vote,  and  it  is  his  clear 
duty  to  use  it,  and  that  in  accordance  with 
his  own  judgment  as  to  who  is  the  ri<,dit  man 
to  vote  fur.  It  is  a  plain  question  of  con- 
science. He  is  bound  to  vote,  and  to  vote 
according  to  his  own  belief  as  to  the  ri<dit 
side.  If  his  wife  and  children  are  not  to  lose 
the  daily  bread  which  he  earns  for  them,  ha 


92  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

must  promise  his  employer  that  he  will  vote 
against  his  conscience.  He  makes  the  promise. 
Is  he  bound  to  keep  it  or  to  break  it  ?  By  the 
wrongful  act  of  his  employer  or  customer,  he 
has  been  put  in  a  position  in  which  he  must 
do  wrong  either  way ;  which  course  does  his 
conscience  require  him  to  take  ?  On  the  one 
hand,  he  must  not  only  break  his  original 
promise,  but  by  any  further  lie  which  may  be 
needful  conceal  the  fact  that  he  has  broken 
it ;  on  the  other  hand,  he  will  have  failed  in 
his  duty  to  his  country  and  his  fellow-citizens 
by  voting  for  the  man  whom  he  believes  not 
to  be  the  right  one.  It  is  a  hard  case  of  con- 
science. The  man  in  the  comfortable  armchair 
will  most  likely  tell  you  that  it  is  very  easy. 
To  tell  a  lie,  or  series  of  lies,  to  an  actual 
employer  is  a  plainly  wicked  act,  though  the 
conduct  of  him  who  requires  it  cannot  be  de- 
fended. But  to  be  false  to  the  duty  you  owe 
your  country  is  only  to  be  false  to  a  dim,  far- 
off  abstraction  ;  and  it  is  surely  pardonable  to 
do  this  as  the  lesser  of  the  two  evils  ?  I  cannot 
think  so.  Luther  preached  against  what  the 
reformers  called  the  righteousness  of  the  law, 
warning  the  anxious  seeker  after  that  right- 
eousness that  he  must  beware  that  the  devil 
does  not  get  possession  of  his  conscience,  and 
so  make  him  hear  the  devil's  voice  when  he 
thinks  he  is  hearing  that  of  God.     It  is  a  hard 


A  General  Election  93 

case,  not  to  be  lightly  settled  by  us  who  are 
not  called  to  the  responsibility  of  a  decision 
for  ourselves.  Mrs.  Gaskell,  the  most  moral 
and  most  Christian  of  our  novelists,  has  a 
tale  which  might  be  called  "  The  Duty  of 
Telling  Lies."  And  I  often  think  of  that  story 
of  the  Jacobite  laird  who  was  saved  from  the 
gallows  by  the  false  swearing  of  his  old  ser- 
vant, who,  when  he  was  afterwards  asked  by 
his  master  how  he,  a  God-fearing  man,  could 
have  declared  to  such  falsehoods  in  God's  pres- 
ence, replied,  "  I  would  rather  trust  my  soul 
with  the  Lord  than  your  body  with  the  Whigs." 

Foster.  "  Splendide  mendax,  et  in  omne  virgo 
nobilis  aevum." 

The  Squire.  After  all,  our  illustrations  do  not 
run  on  all  fours  with  the  thing  illustrated. 
May  it  ever  remain  dishonest  to  an  English- 
man to  tell  a  lie.  But,  "  Woe  to  him  through 
whom  the  offence  cometh." 


V. 

LOVE  AND   MARRIAGE. 

Hail,  wedded  Love  1 

Milton. 

The  sun  was  shining  brightly  and  the  church 
bells  were  pealing  merrily,  as  we  all  walked 
back  through  the  village  from  a  wedding.  The 
bride  had  been  the  playfellow,  and  then  the 
maid,  of  the  Squire's  daughter ;  her  father  and 
mother  lived  in  the  village;  and  she  had  that 
morning  been  married  to  a  young  carpenter, 
with  whom  she  was  now  to  share  a  new  home, 
not  many  miles  away.  I  imagine  that  the 
Squire  had  given  the  young  couple  some  sub- 
stantial aid  in  setting  up  there ;  while  his 
daughters  had  helped  to  make  the  new  home 
bright  for  the  future,  as  well  as  the  old  one 
gay  for  the  wedding  day.  The  Squire's  daugh- 
ter and  eldest  granddaughter  had  shared  the 
office  of  bridesmaid  with  the  bride's  sister; 
but  I  learned  with  some  surprise  that  there 
was  to  be  no  special  merry-making  at  the 
Court,  as  the  people  in  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try call  the  manor  house,  while  dropping  the 


/ 


Love  and  Marriage  95 

prefix  of  "  Knighton,"  "  Sutton,"  or  whatever 
may  be  the  name  of  the  village  in  which  the 
particular  manor  court  was  formerly  held. 
After  church  we  went  with  the  wedding  party 
to  the  cottage  of  the  father  and  mother.  There 
we  all  drank  the  health  of  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom ;  the  Squire  spoke  a  few  words  of  hope 
and  of  blessing,  the  ladies  kissed  the  bride, 
and  we  walked  homeward  along  the  church 
path  and  up  the  avenue.  I  ventured  to  break 
the  silence  by  asking  the  Squire's  daughter 
how  it  was  that  her  father,  who  had  so  many 
likings  for  the  fine  old  English  gentleman,  all 
of  the  olden  time,  did  not  make  the  wedding 
of  the  daughter  of  people  attached  to  his 
family  by  long  services,  an  occasion  for  old- 
fashioned  festivities  of  some  kind. 

"  I  am  sure  he  is  quite  right,"  she  replied. 
"At  a  wedding  at  which  I  was  bridesmaid,  not 
very  long  ago,  the  bride's  father  and  mother 
insisted  upon  having  what  they  called  old- 
fashioned  customs.  So  we  had  a  long,  dreary 
wedding  breakfast,  where  the  wretched  bride 
sat  opposite  a  huge  cake,  looking  the  picture 
of  I  don't  know  what,  while  the  clergyman 
and  her  father  and  a  number  of  other  peo- 
ple made  Stupid  speeches.  Mr.  Oldham,  the 
bride's  father,  lamented  that  the  good  old 
wedding  breakfasts,  su<  h  ns  that  at  which  we 
were,    were   going    out   of    fashion,    and    that 


96  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

people  were  now  expected,  on  such  occasions, 
to  swallow  a  biscuit  and  a  cup  of  coffee,  as  if 
they  were  at  a  railway  station,  with  only  five 
minutes  allowed.  I  thought  the  great  tedious 
breakfast  horrid,  and  the  new  fashion  much 
better." 

"But  I  dare  say  you  had  dancing  in  the 
evening:  and  I  am  sure  you  like  that." 

"  I  do  always  delight  in  dancing,"  she  re- 
turned. "  Yet  even  that  seemed  out  of  place 
on  that  evening;  it  was  so  plain  that  the 
mother  and  sisters  were  thinking  of  something 
else  than  the  company,  and  would  have  been 
only  too  glad  to  have  the  house  to  themselves 
in  quiet.  And  I  could  not  help  feeling  for 
them,  and  losing  all  pleasure  in  the  dancing. 
But  ask  my  father  what  he  thinks  about  it  all." 

Here  the  young  lady  walked  on  "  in  maiden 
meditation,  fancy  free,"  the  rest  of  the  party 
dispersed,  and  I  found  myself  alone  with  the 
Squire  at  the  top  of  the  terrace  steps.    I  said  :  — 

"  Your  daughter  has  just  been  giving  me 
your  reasons  —  or  perhaps  I  should  say  her 
own  —  for  not  having  any  merry-making  up 
here  after  the  wedding." 

The  Squire.  That  is  a  kind  of  paternal  gov- 
ernment or  paternal  patronage  for  which  I  have 
no  liking.  The  children  are  grown  up  and 
have  homes  of  their  own  ;  and  we  must  respect 
those   homes,    however    humble.       There   are 


Love  and  Marriage  97 

happy  as  well  as  sad  times  for  thoughts  and 
feelings  which  can  be  shared  only  by  the  two 
or  three  nearest  to  us.  Such  sympathy  as  it 
was  possible  for  us  to  show  to-day  we  have 
shown  by  going  to  church,  and  there  taking 
our  place  in  the  one  great  family :  to  attempt 
more  seems  to  me  a  sort  of  intrusion,  and  even 
profanation.  We  know  little,  and  share  less, 
of  the  deeper  thoughts  and  feelings  of  those 
nearest  to  us  :  how  can  we  know  or  share  those 
of  these  poor  people,  divided  from  us  by  lines 
of  impassable  reserve  and  reticence  ?  This 
morning,  while  I  thought  of  other  marriages, 
past  and  to  come,  and  of  Tennyson's  pictures 
of  the  bride  when  first  she  wears  the  orange 
flower  and  when  she  returns  to  her  old  home 
again,  I  considered,  too,  how  certainly  these 
good  people  were  happy  in  the  like  thoughts 
and  feelings,  though  they  had  never  read  Ten- 
nyson, nor  put  these  thoughts  and  feelings  into 
words  like  his.  Depend  upon  it,  there  is  as 
much  and  as  true  romance  in  the  young  hearts, 
and  in  the  old  ones,  too,  in  that  cottage  as  in 
those  in  this  house. 

Foster*  You  say  the  romance  of  old  hearts, 
too:  then  may  I  believe  that  you  do  not  think 
love  a  mere  fading  flower,  which  must  soon 
perish?  If  you  had  long  a^o  written  such  a 
poem  as  Coleridge's  "Love,"  you  would  not 
have  prefixed  to  it,  any  number  of  years  after- 
wards, those  verses  of  Petrarch? 


98  2a/h  at  a  Country  House 

The  Squire.  I  know  the  poem  well.  It  is  full 
of  that  soft  beauty  of  images,  emotion,  and  ex- 
pression with  which  Coleridge  so  often  reminds 
us  of  Shakespeare  and  Spenser.  But  what  of 
Petrarch's  verses  ? 

Foster.  After  the  customary  classical  phrases 
about  the  wounds  inflicted  by  Cupid's  arrows, 
he  says  that  age  has  changed  all  this  ;  and  that 
when  he  reads  his  youthful  verses  again  mens 
horret,  he  shrinks  from  the  voice  and  words 
which  sound  like  those  of  another,  and  not  his 
own.  I  am  glad  you  do  not  agree  with  Cole- 
ridge in  this  cynical  mocking  at  his  own  be- 
lief. 

The  Squire.  There  is  another  poem  of  Cole- 
ridge's, a  charming  piece  of  prose  and  verse, 
called  "The  Improvisatore,"  in  which  he  him- 
self replies  to  and  puts  aside  that  cynical  doc- 
trine which  you  regret.  Coleridge's  ideas  of 
love,  and  of  life  generally,  are  always  high  and 
noble,  —  no  man's  higher  ;  but  in  their  realiza- 
tion he  fell  far  short.  He  had  the  intellect  of 
a  wise  man  and  the  conscience  of  a  good  man, 
but  a  will  weak  and  unstable  in  the  extreme  ; 
and  great  teacher  as  he  was  to  his  generation, 
and  will  be  to  generations  yet  to  come,  there 
was  but  too  much  reason  for  the  remorse  with 
which  he  mourned,  but  could  not  in  this  life 
redeem,  his  own  shortcomings.  He  was  no 
doubt  sincere  when  he  said,  — 


Love  and  Marriage  99 

"  To  be  beloved  is  all  I  need, 

And  whom  I  love,  I  love  indeed ;  " 

but  side  by  side  with  this  is  the  fact  that  he 
could  not  live  with  his  wife  and  the  mother  of  his 
children.  We  have  all  more  or  less  reason  to 
know  with  remorse  what  it  is  to  be  possessed 
of  the  evil  spirit  of  contradiction  ;  but  the  worst 
form  of  this  possession  is  that  which  separates 
husband  and  wife  from  heart  and  hearth.  You 
cannot  wonder  that  poor  Coleridge  one  day 
made  the  cynical  lines  of  Petrarch  his  own,  and 
another  the  words  of  belief  in  an  undying  love 
in  which  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Burns  and 
Moore,  have  embodied  that  faith.  In  one 
sense  it  is  true  that  love  is  a  fading  flower ;  but 
it  is  still  more  true  that  just  as  the  promises  of 
childhood  and  youth  find  their  fulfillment  in 
mature  age,  so  the  aspirations  and  hopes  of 
youthful  lovers  find  their  fulfillment  in  the 
after  years  of  marriage.  It  is  only  in  a  con- 
tinually expanding  and  maturing  union  of  hus- 
band and  wife  that  the  realization  is  possible 
of  such  a  love  as  Charles  pictures  to  Angelina 
when  he  says  :  — 

"  U't  II  live  together,  like  two  neighbor  vii 
Circling  our  s'.uls  and  loves  in  one  another  ! 
We'll  spring  together,  and  we  '11  bear  one  fruit ; 
One  joy  sh.ill  make  us  smile,  and  one  giiri  mourn  ; 
One  age  go  with  us,  ati!  one  hour  ol  death 
Shall  close  our  eyes,  and  one  grave  make  us  happy." 

Foster.     I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.     But 


ioo  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

how  long  the  world  has  taken  to  accept  this 
faith  ;  how  imperfectly  does  it  now  practice  it, 
or  even  believe  it !  Christ  told  his  disciples  that 
it  would  be  found  in  the  story  of  the  creation 
of  man  ;  it  glimmers  in  the  love  of  Jacob  for 
Rachel  ;  the  favorite  allegory  of  the  Hebrew 
prophets  of  their  nation  as  the  bride  of  Jeho- 
vah seeming  to  show  that  the  ideal  had  some 
counterpart  in  actual  life.  Homer  shows  us 
the  love  of  husband  and  wife  in  Hector  and 
Andromache  ;  but  in  the  days  of  Plato  all  rec- 
ognition of  a  relation  between  love  and  mar- 
riage seems  utterly  to  have  vanished. 

The  Squire.  Yes  ;  and  how  slowly  and  with 
what  struggles  has  it  been  emerging  through 
the  ages  of  the  new  Christian  civilization  ! 
Socrates,  or  Plato  for  him,  dreamed,  as  you 
say,  of  a  purely  ideal  love,  with  no  relation  to 
actual  life.  The  Christian  Church  tried  long 
and  earnestly  to  purify  and  carry  into  a  spir- 
itual channel  the  passion  of  love,  by  making 
Christ  or  the  Virgin  Mary,  St.  Joseph  or  St. 
Catherine,  or  some  other  of  the  holy  men  and 
women  who  had  been  raised  to  sainthood,  the 
objects  of  the  passionate  devotions  of  monks 
and  nuns.  I  respect  and  admire  the  self- 
sacrifice  and  the  devotion  with  which  these 
monks  and  nuns  gave  themselves  up  to  this 
spiritual  love  ;  and  I  cannot  doubt  that  they 
were  helping  to  lay  the  foundations  for  a  life 


Love  and  Marriage  101 


6" 


more  really  spiritual,  because  more  in  accord- 
ance with  God's  laws  of  human  nature  than 
their  own.  To  some,  indeed,  it  was  given  to 
realize  their  ideas  of  spiritual  love.  But  they 
were,  and  still  are,  the  exceptions. 

Foster.  Do  you  think,  then,  that  the  poetic 
ideal  of  love,  such  as  we  have  it  in  the  lines  you 
have  just  quoted  from  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
or  as  it  stands  in  "  John  Anderson,  my  Jo,"  is  in 
truth  identical  with  the  ideal  of  the  Christian 
Church  ? 

The  Squire.  I  often  think  that  in  the  marriage 
service  which  we  have  heard  this  morning, 
and  especially  in  the  marriage  vows,  our  Eng- 
lish Church  reformers  have  embodied  the  very 
ideals  of  love,  in  itself,  and  in  the  married  life. 
The  words  are  homely  enough,  but  there  is  a 
pathos,  a  depth  of  feeling  in  them,  which  can- 
not be  greater.  "  I,  Richard,  take  thee,  Mary, 
to  my  wedded  wife,  to  have  and  to  hold 
from  this  day  forward,  for  better  for  worse,  for 
richer  or  poorer,  in  sickness  and  in  health,  to 
love  and  to  cherish,  till  death  us  do  part,  ac- 
cording to  God's  holy  ordinance  ;  and  thereto 
I  plight  thee  my  troth."  If  love  be  the  giving 
one's  self  without  reserve  to  another,  and  re- 
ceiving the  like  gift  from  that  other,  what  words 
could  express  such  love  better  than  these  ? 

Foster.  Not  even  those  of  Sir  Philip  Sid- 
ney:— 


102  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

"  My  true-love  hath  my  heart,  and  I  have  his, 
By  just  exchange  for  one  another  given  : 
I  hold  his  dear,  and  mine  he  cannot  miss, 
There  never  was  a  better  bargain  driven  : 
My  true  love  hath  my  heart,  and  I  have  his. 

"  His  heart  in  me  keeps  him  and  me  in  one, 
My  heart  in  him  his  thoughts  and  senses  guides: 
He  loves  my  heart,  for  once  it  was  his  own, 
I  cherish  his  because  in  me  it  bides : 
My  true-love  hath  my  heart,  and  I  have  his." 

The  Squire.  It  is  of  the  essence  of  love, 
that  longing  desire  to  share  the  joys  and  the 
troubles  of  life  with  the  loved  one,  and  the 
confident  belief  that  we  can  so  share  the  bur- 
dens and  double  the  enjoyments  of  him  or 
her  whom  we  love  ;  and  what  words  can  say 
this  better  than  "for  better  for  worse,  for 
richer  for  poorer,  in  sickness  and  in  health  "  ? 
"  To  love  and  to  cherish  "  in  all  those  chances 
and  changes, — the  most  ardent,  most  roman- 
tic lover  cannot  promise  more ;  and  happy  is 
that  man  or  woman  who,  at  the  end  of  a  long 
married  life,  can  say,  though  with  many  tender 
and  even  sad  regrets,  "  I  have  kept  my  vows  "  ! 

Foster.  Is  it  not  said  that  in  the  old  York 
Manual,  in  use  before  the  Reformation,  along 
with  the  vows  as  they  now  stand  were  the 
words  "  for  fairer  for  fouler  "  ? 

The  Squire.  So  Wheatley  says.  It  is  just 
what  Moore  says  in  the  song  beginning,  — 

"  Believe  me,  if  all  those  endearing  young  charms, 
Which  I  gaze  on  so  fondly  to-day." 


Love  and  Marriage  103 

The  meaning  is  good  in  the  quaint  old  phrase ; 
but  it  is  not  every  one  who  can  hear  grave 
thoughts  expressed  in  words  of  humorous 
oddity  without  an  incongruous  sense  of  the 
ridiculous,  and  therefore  our  reformers  were 
right  to  omit  them. 

Foster.  There  are  two  vows  or  promises 
which  you  have  not  noticed:  the  woman's  vow 
to  obey,  and  the  man's  declaration  "  with  my 
body  I  thee  worship." 

The  Squire.  They  are  the  counterparts  of  one 
sentiment,  that  which  we  call  the  sentiment  of 
chivalry.  You  always  recognize  that  sentiment 
with  prompt  alacrity.  The  spontaneous  and 
heartfelt  reverence  fur  woman,  which  we  call 
chivalry  is  not  given  to  all  men,  not  even  to 
all  good  men  ;  nor  do  all  women  seem  to  feel 
the  need  for  it  strongly,  though  no  doubt  all 
are  pleased  when  such  worship  is  shown  them. 
I  suppose  it  can  never  be  wholly  wanting  in 
the  love  of  the  young ;  but  with  some  men  it 
seems  transient,  and  sometimes  it  degenerates 
into  a  foolish  gallantry,  or,  still  worse,  into 
that  detestable  combination  of  outward  respect 
and  inward  contempt  which  Lord  Chesterfield 
held  to  be  the  proper  attitude  of  a  gentleman. 
But  I  know  that  you  arc,  and  will  be  till  death, 
a   true   knight    .inning   ladies.      Then   as  to   the 

counterpart  in  the  woman's  vow  of  obedience, 

There   are   many  forms  and   many  degrees  of 


1 04  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

that  obedience  ;  and  every  woman  must  judge, 
and  every  good  woman  will  judge  rightly,  what 
these  must  be  in  her  own  case.  You  may 
study  them  all  in  Shakespeare,  in  every  va- 
riety; no  two  alike,  but  all  very  beautiful.  I 
will  give  you  one,  that  of  Portia,  in  "The  Mer- 
chant of  Venice," — Portia,  the  rich  heiress, 
mistress  of  herself  and  her  wealth,  self-pos- 
sessed and  self-asserting,  whom  we  may  sus- 
pect of  being  half  conscious  of  her  own 
intellectual  superiority  to  the  worthy  and 
amiable  man  whom  she  has  chosen  to  take 
for  her  husband,  and  of  whom  she  makes  fun 
with  saucy  boldness,  while  she  is  getting  him 
and  his  friend  out  of  a  difficulty  beyond  their 
wit  to  cope  with.  This  is  how  Portia  gives 
herself  to  Bassanio  :  — 

"  You  see  me,  Lord  Bassanio,  where  I  stand, 
Such  as  I  am  :  though  for  myself  alone 
I  would  not  be  ambitious  in  my  wish, 
To  wish  myself  much  better  ;  yet,  for  you 
I  would  be  trebled  twenty  times  myself  ; 
A  thousand  times  more  fair,  ten  thousand  times 
More  rich ; 

That  only  to  stand  high  in  your  account, 
I  might  in  virtues,  beauties,  livings,  friends, 
Exceed  account ;  but  the  full  sum  of  me 
Is  sum  of  something,  which,  to  term  in  gross, 
Is  an  unlessoa'd  girl,  unschool'd,  unpractised, 
Happy  in  this,  she  is  not  yet  so  old 
But  she  may  learn ;  happier  than  this, 
She  is  not  bred  so  dull  but  she  can  learn; 
Happiest  of  all  is  that  her  gentle  spirit 


Love  and  Marriage  10 


3 


Commits  itself  to  yours  to  be  directed, 
As  from  her  lord,  her  governor,  her  king. 
Myself  and  what  is  mine  to  you  and  yours 
Is  now  converted :  but  now  I  was  the  lord 
Of  this  fair  mansion,  master  of  my  servants, 
Queen  o'er  myself ;  and  even  now,  but  now, 
This  house,  these  servants  and  this  same  myself 
Are  yours,  my  lord  :  I  give  them  with  this  ring; 
Which  when  you  part  from,  lose,  or  give  away, 
Let  it  presage  the  ruin  of  your  love 
And  be  my  vantage  to  exclaim  on  you." 

The  whole  scene  is,  indeed,  a  perfect  picture  of 
true  love,  —  love  at  once  passionate  and  pure, 
as  modest  and  as  chaste  as  it  is  without  reserve. 

Foster.  Portia's  words  which  you  have  re- 
peated remind  me  of  the  words  with  which 
the  young  Roman  matron  crossed  the  thresh- 
old of  her  husband's  house  and  her  future 
home, —  "Ubi  tu  Caius,  ego  Caia." 

The  Squire.  Which  YVheatley  well  trans- 
lates, "  Where  you  are  master,  I  am  mistress." 
There  is  a  proud  humility  in  the  words  which 
well  becomes  the  dignity  of  the  Roman  ma- 
tron. And  no  words  could  better  sum  up  and 
describe  that  most  charming  among  the  things 
ol  daily  lift-,  the  wife's  unconscious  faith  and 
r  t i < 1 1 1  that  the  home  which  she  shares  with 
her  husband  is  as  much  and  as  really  her 
own  by  right  of   mai  is   it   is  his  by  in- 

heritance or  by  the  work  of  his  own  hands. 
It  is  this  twofold  life,  two  beings  and  two  lives 
in  one,  which  makes  a  marriage  and  a  home. 


1 06  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Foster.  You  remind  me  of  the  description 
of  the  Dauphin  and  the  Lady  Blanch  in  "  King 
John:"  — 

"  If  lusty  love  should  go  in  quest  of  beauty, 
Where  should  he  find  it  fairer  than  in  Blanch? 
If  zealous  love  should  go  in  search  of  virtue, 
Where  should  he  find  it  purer  than  in  Blanch  ? 
If  love  ambitious  sought  a  match  of  birth, 
Whose  veins  bound  richer  blood  than  Lady  Blanch? 
Such  as  she  is,  in  beauty,  virtue,  birth, 
Is  the  young  Dauphin  every  way  complete : 
If  not  complete  of,  say  lie  is  not  she ; 
And  she  again  wants  nothing,  to  name  want, 
If  want  it  be  not  that  she  is  not  he  : 
He  is  the  half  part  of  a  blessed  man, 
Left  to  be  finished  by  such  as  she ; 
And  she  a  fair  divided  excellence, 
Whose  fulness  of  perfection  lies  in  him." 

I  should  be  glad  enough  to  believe  heartily 
in  the  lastingness  of  all  true  love,  whether  on 
the  authority  of  Shakespeare  or  any  other. 
But  does  not  Shakespeare  mean  Prospero  to 
confess  that  even  the  holy  love  of  Ferdinand 
and  Miranda  is  but  such  stuff  as  dreams  are 
made  of  ? 

The  Squire.  He  charges  himself  with  the 
petulance  of  old  age  while  he  so  speaks.  If  he 
had  really  believed  this,  could  he  have  said, 
when  he  saw  how  love  was  awaking  in  those 
young  hearts,  — 

"  So  glad  of  this  as  they  I  cannot  be, 
Who  are  surprised  withal :  but  my  rejoicing 
At  nothing  can  be  more  "  ? 


Love  and  Marriage  107 

He  could  not  have  rejoiced  to  lose  his 
daughter,  that  most  dear  companion  of  his 
old  age,  for  the  sake  of  a  dream.  I  do  not 
pretend  that  all  love,  even  when  it  has  the 
signs  of  being  true,  is  always  lasting.  It  is 
too  often  choked,  and  perishes  under  the 
pleasures  or  the  cares  of  the  world.  Yet, 
depend  upon  it,  as  you  grow  older  you  will  see 
more  and  more  instances  and  proofs  of  the 
reality  and  the  depth  of  the  love  of  husbands 
and  wives  for  each  other  in  the  most  ordinary, 
commonplace  couples.  I  have  heard  of  mar- 
riages where  love  has  died  out  from  some 
canker  of  selfishness  or  worldliness  at  its 
heart ;  but  I  have  oftener  seen  unexpected 
proofs  of  a  love  stronger  than  death  in  all 
sorts  of  people  in  whom  I  had  never  before 
discovered  any  signs  of  sentiment  or  romance. 
Nor  must  we  forget  the  many  loving  couples 
in  whose  case  love  has  come  after  a  marriage 
which  seemed  to  have  had  no  higher  than 
prudential  motives  of  one  kind  or  another. 
Love,  indeed,  must  be  kept  alive  by  love, — ■ 
love  deep  in  the  heart,  yet  coursing  through 
the  minutest  veins,  and  giving  to  every  power 
of  life  a  new  and  double  power.  Love  must 
show  itself  living  in  the  great  occasions  of  life, 
in  some  supreme  moment  calling  for  mutual 
sympathy  in  a  great  joy  or  grief ;  it  must  show 
itself  in  all  the  thousand  little  daily  and  hourly 


10S  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

thoughtfulnesses,  courtesies,  and  forbearances 
of  common  life.  These  things,  the  reflection 
of  which  we  call  good  manners,  the  manners  of 
the  lady  and  the  gentleman,  should  have  with 
husband  and  wife  a  reality  as  of  sunlight 
compared  with  moonlight.  They  alone  can 
know  and  share  these  things  in  their  fullness, 
and  they  should  be  to  them  as  the  atmosphere 
they  breathe.  And  it  is  noticeable  that  in  the 
old  Marriage  Service  the  bride's  vow  of  obe- 
dience included  a  promise  to  be  "buxom  at 
bed  and  board,"  where  the  earlier  sense  of  the 
word  "  buxom "  as  "  obedient  "  is  evidently 
meant  to  include  the  later  one  of  good-hu- 
mored, genial  obedience,  as  when  Milton  joins 
it  with  "blithe  and  debonair."  I  think  the 
author  of  "Obiter  Dicta"  says  that  husband 
and  wife  should  take  care  to  have  and  to  keep 
up  a  common  interest  in  some  subject  of 
reading  or  action  which  they  can  always  share 
together.  It  is  good  practical  advice.  To 
many  it  may  be  unnecessary,  and  especially 
to  those  who  have  children  as  the  objects  of 
their  common  love  and  care.  I  once  heard  a 
noble-minded  lady  say  sadly,  "We  were  very 
much  in  love  with  each  other,"  speaking  of 
the  old  days  of  courtship;  and  she  added, 
"  and  it  might  all  come  back  again  if  only  he 
would  show  me  some  love."  They  were  not 
selfish  nor  ungenerous,  but  their  life  was  cold 


Love  and  Marriage  109 

and  dreary  because  they  had  not  learned 
rightly  the  arts  of  wedded  love.  A  wise  and 
prudent  reserve  in  all  other  affairs  of  life  is 
so  right  and  needful  that  there  is  always 
danger  of  its  growing  up  in  the  one  relation 
in  which  there  should  be  no  reserve ;  and  so 
it  may  grow  and  harden  till  it  becomes  an 
impassable  barrier  between  the  hearts  that 
should  be  one.  When  Maurice  was  asked 
whether  we  shall  know  one  another  in  the  life 
to  come,  he  answered,  in  his  favorite  Socratic 
fashion,  with  the  further  question,  "Do  we 
know  one  another  here  ? "  There  is  a  strange 
perverseness  of  our  nature  by  which  we  recoil 
from  sympathy  with  ourselves  at  the  very 
moment  at  which  we  are  craving  for  that 
sympathy,  and  when  to  love  and  to  be  loved 
is  the  very  thing  we  are  longing  for.  I  am 
thinking  not  of  the  great  occasions  and  duties 
of  married  life,  but  of  its  little  daily  and 
hourly  courtesies  and  endearments.  They  tell 
us  that  the  great  oak  draws  its  nourishment 
and  life  not  more  through  its  main  roots  than 
through  its  countless  minute  fibres  and  threads 
which  feed  those  main  roots  below  and  its 
countless  leaves  above.  "To  love  and  to 
cherish,"  — it  is  this  sympathy  in  giving  and 
receiving  of  souls  that  we  cherish  as  well  as 
love  the  object  of  our  vows.  When  you  marry, 
as  I  hope  you  will,  do  not  forget  the  advice  of 
an  old  man. 


no  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


Foster.  You  ought  to  know  what  you  say  ; 
and  I,  as  I  said  just  now,  am  only  too  willing 
to  believe  it.  Yet  those  awful  words  which  we 
heard  this  morning  haunt  me,  —  "Till  death 
us  do  part !  " 

The  Squire.  They  are  indeed  awful ;  as  he 
knows  best  who  has  heard  them  at  the  grave- 
side echoed  back  in  the  words  of  another 
church  service,  —  "  Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to 
ashes,  dust  to  dust."  Cicero's  Cato  declares 
that  he  would  not  think  life  worth  living:  if 
he  did  not  believe  that  he  should  meet  his 
lost  son  again  among  all  the  company  of 
heaven,  as  his  words  might  almost  literally  be 
translated.  And  if  this  was  the  faith  of  a 
heathen  philosopher,  much  more  may  it  be 
ours.  If  one  grave  is  to  make  the  lovers 
happy,  —  and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  express 
a  deeply  rooted  thought  and  sentiment  in 
many  hearts,  —  it  must  be  because  they  look 
beyond  that  grave.  The  ballad  of  John  An- 
derson is  perfect  in  its  kind,  but  I  always  like 
to  think  of  it  along  with  its  supplement  in 
Lady  Nairne's  "  Land  o'  the  Leal."  To  sleep 
together  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  which  the  old 
loving  hearts  had  climbed  together  long  years 
before  is  a  pleasant  thought,  yet  surely  pleas- 
ant only  to  those  who  look  to  share  the  fast- 
coming  joy  of  a  waking  from  that  sleep  to  be 
shared  together  in  that  better  land. 


Love  and  Marriage  1 1 1 

"  For  if  this  earth  be  ruled  by  Perfect  Love, 
Then,  after  his  brief  range  of  blameless  days, 
The  toll  of  funeral  in  an  Angel  ear 
Sounds  happier  than  the  merriest  marriage-bell. 
The  face  of  Death  is  toward  the  Sun  of  Life, 
His  shadow  darkens  earth  :  his  truer  name 
Is  '  Onward,'  no  discordance  in  the  roll 
And  march  of  that  Eternal  Harmony 
\\  hereto  the  worlds  beat  time,  tho'  faintly  heard 
Until  the  great  Hereafter.     Mourn  in  hope!" 

We  had  come  into  the  house  as  the  Squire 
repeated  these  lines  half  to  himself.  Then, 
going  inlo  his  own  room,  he  took  from  a 
drawer  a  book,  which  he  opened,  and  pointed 
to  the  following  words  :  — 

"  When  I  think  how  these  hands  cared  for 
me  in  sickness  and  in  health,  I  feel  that  I 
shall  press  them  to  my  heart  again  ;  when  I 
see,  in  memory,  those  lips  which  ever  spoke 
in  words  of  wisdom  and  comfort  and  tenderest 
love  and  trust,  and  those  bright  joyous  eyes 
which  to  the  last  bended  their  light  on  me,  I 
know  that  I  shall  most  certainly  behold  that 
face  and  hear  that  voice  again, —  in  the  res- 
urrection. It  cannot  be  otherwise.  The  ex- 
pression of  such  spirits,  which  is  indeed  their 
lifelong  character  stamping  itself  upon  the 
outward  form,  can  never  die.  'There  is  a 
natural  body,  and  there  is  a  spiritual  body,' 
says  St.  Paul." 

The  Squire  sat  down  in  his  armchair;  and 
we  were  silent  for  some  time.     Then  I  said, — 


1 1 2  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

"  They  are  beautiful  words :  where  do  they 
come  from  ?  " 

The  Squire.  They  are  slightly  altered  from 
Miss  Bremer's  "  Homes  of  the  New  World." 
They  express  the  thought,  or  rather  let  me  say 
the  conviction  and  the  faith,  summed  up  by 
Tennyson  in  the  words,  "  We  shall  know  them 
when  we  meet." 

Foster.  Has  not  Tennyson  opened  a  new 
road  in  literature,  in  what  he  writes  so  freely 
as  to  another  life,  or  rather  as  to  our  life  after 
death  ? 

The  Squire.  I  think  this  is  so,  if  in  your  use 
of  the  word  Literature  you  draw  a  line  which 
shall  put  on  one  side  Shakespeare,  and  on 
the  other  the  New  Testament,  the  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  and  all  our  Hymns  of  the  Christian 
Church. 

Foster.  That  is  what  I  meant ;  but  I  see 
the  great  difficulty  of  doing  anything  of  the 
kind.  You  may  ask  me  whether  I  do  not 
consider  the  writings  of  our  great  theologians 
to  be  a  part  of  English  literature,  and  I  should 
hardly  know  what  to  answer. 

The  Squire.  No  ;  so  far  from  wishing  to  push 
you  into  a  corner,  I  think  you  are  right.  There 
is  a  real  distinction,  though  it  should  be  one 
of  relationship,  not  of  separation  between  our 
thoughts  of  this  life  and  of  that  which  is  to 
come.     Poets  and  men  of  letters  deal  princi- 


Love  and  Marriage  113 

pally  with  the  one,  and  preachers  and  theo- 
logians with  the  other;  but  Tennyson,  while 
belonging  to  the  former,  has  put  himself  in 
touch  with  the  latter,  with  more  openness  and 
less  of  reticence  than  usual.  Wordsworth  was 
a  sincere  and  devout  Christian,  but  there  is  a 
striking  difference  between  his  great  "Ode" 
and  Tennyson's  "  In  Memoriam."  The  Idea, 
the  Motive,  underlying  Wordsworth's  Ode  is 
that  Man  has  in  him  another  and  truer  life 
than  that  of  Nature,  of  which  he  has  indica- 
tions in  himself  which  seem  like  the  recollec- 
tions of  a  divine  Mind  whence  he  has  come ; 
while  in  Tennyson's  poem  the  Master  thought 
is  going  forward  into  a  world  to  come.  Con- 
versely,  it  has  been  said  of  Maurice,  the 
greatest  of  the  religious  teachers  of  our  gen- 
eration, that  he  dwells  so  naturally  on  the 
present  reality  of  the  life  eternal  that  he 
sometimes  seems  to  speak  little  of  the  future 
life  everlasting.  But  the  ideas  are  really  inter- 
changeable,  and  he  knows  most  of  the  one, 
to  whom  the  other  is  best  known,  whichever 
he  may  find  it  his  own  vocation  to  speak  upon. 
/  \ster.  But  there  are  good  and  thoughtful 
men  who  heartily  recognize  the  reality  of  a 
moral  life  above  that  of  mere  nature,  and  yet 
have  no  belief,  but  indeed  .1  positive  disbelief, 
of  any  continuance  of  this  life  beyond  the 
grave  ? 


ii4  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

The  Squire.  As  I  often  say  to  you,  the  world 
is  full  of  mysteries  which  I  cannot  fathom.  I 
have  asked  myself  your  question  many  times ; 
the  only  answer  I  find  is  that  in  the  Gospel : 
"  And  His  disciples  asked  Him,  saying,  Mas- 
ter, who  did  sin,  this  man,  or  his  parents,  that 
he  was  born  blind  ?  Jesus  answered,  Neither 
hath  this  man  sinned  nor  his  parents  :  but  that 
the  works  of  God  should  be  made  manifest  in 
him."  He  may  have  found  his  new  experience 
worth  the  price  of  the  old  one  when  the  Divine 
Word  said,  "  Let  there  be  light  and  there  was 
light." 

Foster.  Why  does  Shakespeare,  who  knew 
everything,  say  almost  nothing  about  a  future 
life  ?  Shakespeare's  ghosts,  like  all  the  ghosts 
of  actual  life,  are  but  the  projected  forms  of 
the  imagination  of  him  who  sees  them,  and 
tell  nothing  which  he  did  not  know  already. 
"To  sleep,  perchance  to  dream,"  and  to  dream 
very  uneasily,  is  all  that  Hamlet's  philosophy 
can  tell  him  of  another  life.  And  Constance 
can  think  of  it  only  as  a  place  where  her  child 
will  not  know  her,  but  will  be  lost  to  her  for- 
ever. 

The  Squire.  Shakespeare's  business  was  to 
picture  men  and  women  as  they  are,  in  them- 
selves, and  in  their  relations  to  each  other. 
Shakespeare's  men  and  women  are  not  re- 
ligious   people,    but    they   are    the    men    and 


Love  and  Marriage  115 

women  of  actual  life.  Like  the  greater  part 
of  actual  men  and  women,  they  are  not  god- 
less, nor  unbelieving  either  in  the  force  of 
prayer  or  in  the  reality  of  a  future  life ;  but 
they  are  mainly  occupied  with  the  affairs  of  this 
world,  and  its  duties  and  its  ambitions,  its 
griefs  and  its  enjoyments ;  and  their  chief 
thought  of  death  is  that  it  is  the  rest  from  all 
these  labors. 
Foster. 

"  Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun, 

Nor  the  furious  winter's  rages  ; 

Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done, 

Home  art  gone  and  ta'en  thy  wages  ;" 


and 


"  Good-night,  sweet  prince, 
And  flights  of  angels  sing  thee  to  thy  rest." 


The  Squire.  Yes.  But  notice  the  words  are 
those  of  one  who  never  uses  a  word  that  is 
not  the  exact  counterpart  of  the  thought  it 
expresses.  In  the  passage  you  quote  from 
I  lymbeline,  not  only  has  the  whole  manifest 
reference  to  the  Scripture  words,  "  Blessed 
are  the  dead  that  die  in  the  Lord  henceforth, 
for  they  rest  from  their  labours,  and  their 
works  do  follow  them,"  but  each  word  is  sig- 
nificant of  another  life.  A  divine  taskmaster, 
of  tasks  other  than  of  this  world,  a  home  in 
which  shall  be  enjoyed  the  reward  for  work 
here  done  well  —  all  these  are  plainly  implied. 


n6  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Then,  again,  look  at  Horatio's  farewell  to 
Hamlet.  The  true  commentary  on  that  "  Good- 
night "  is  Mrs.  Barbauld's  "  Hymn  of  Life," 
of  which  Wordsworth  said  to  a  lady  from 
whom  the  story  comes  down  to  me,  that  to 
have  written  that  poem  he  would  willingly 
have  left  half  his  own  unwritten.  You  can 
repeat  it  —  turning  to  his  daughter  who  had 
joined  us  ;  to  which  she  answered  :  — 

"  Life  !     I  know  not  what  thou  art, 
But  know  that  thou  and  I  must  part ; 
And  when,  or  how,  or  where  we  met, 
I  own,  to  me 's  a  secret  yet. 
Life  !  we  've  been  long  together, 
Through  pleasant  and  through  cloudy  weather ; 
'Tis  hard  to  part  when  friends  are  dear  — 
Perhaps  't  will  cost  a  sigh,  a  tear ; 
—  Then  steal  away,  give  little  warning, 

Choose  thine  own  time  ; 
Say  not  Good-night  —  but  in  some  brighter  clime 

Bid  me  Good-morning." 

The  Squire.  Yes;  "good-night"  tells  cer- 
tainly of  "good-morning,"  with  all  the  bright 
and  glad  thoughts  which  belong  to  the  begin- 
ning of  a  new  day.  "  Rest,"  too,  does  not  less 
certainly  imply  renewal  of  life  and  strength 
to  new  work,  because  it  has  come  to  one 
weary  from  past  overwork.  And  even  in  the 
interval  of  rest  Hamlet  is  accompanied  by  the 
songs  of  angels.  And  among  them  we  may 
be  certain  was  Ophelia.  She  had  become  a 
"ministering  angel,"  as  Laertes  was  assured, 


Love  and  Marriage  1 1 7 

and  that  she  was  still  his  sister,  while  he  laid 
"her  fair  and  unpolluted  flesh"  in  the  grave. 

Foster.     But  does  Shakespeare  mean  all  this  ? 

The  Squire.  He  says  it  all ;  I  do  not  pretend 
to  know  more  than  that.  As  I  said  just  now, 
his  men  and  women  are  not  religious  people  ; 
he  has  no  St.  Francis  nor  Saint  Teresa,  no 
Thomas  a  Kempis,  nor  Madame  Guion  ;  but 
he  shows  us  real  men  and  women,  who  think, 
feel,  and  act  as  real  men  and  women  for  the 
most  part  do. 

Foster.  You  mean  that  only  a  few  in  any 
generation  are  called  and  have  power  given  to 
them,  consciously  to  look  on  the  present  life 
as  the  preparation  for  that  which  is  to  come. 

The  Squire.  Yes  ;  it  is  only  in  that  way  that 
I  meant  to  speak  of  men  and  women  as  possibly 
not  religious.  It  is  not  till  the  shades  of 
Saturday  night  are  falling  that  the  thoughts 
of  home  and  wages  take  the  place  of  those  of 
work  and  duty,  even  in  good  men  and  women. 
It  is  only  in  this  sense  that  I  would  dare  to 
say  that  men  are  not  religious,  and  even  so 
I  do  not  pretend  to  know  men's  hearts,  nor 
to  doubt  that  in  many  a  heart  and  mind  lie 
ights  and  feelings  too  dee])  for  words.  1 
call  a  man  religious  who  lives  in  habitual 
consciousness  of  his  relation  to  God  ;  but  the 
relationship  itself  is  in  fact  infinitely  deeper 
than  the  consciousness  of  it. 


n8  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Foster. 

"  Dear  child !  dear  girl !  that  walkest  with  me  here, 
If  thou  appear  untouch'd  by  solemn  thought 
Thy  nature  is  not  therefore  less  divine  ; 

"  Thou  liest  in  Abraham's  bosom  all  the  year, 
And  worship'st  at  the  Temple's  inner  shrine, 
God  being  with  thee  when  we  know  it  not." 

The  Squire.  Yes  ;  or  take,  for  instance,  that 
speech  of  Portia  which  I  quoted  just  now,  in 
which  there  is  not  a  word  which  can  in  this 
sense  be  called  religious,  and  yet  it  implies 
throughout  the  Christian  ideal  of  marriage  as 
a  divinely  created  and  sanctioned  bond.  And 
so  I  think  Shakespeare  may  be  justified  as 
true  to  nature,  even  to  those  who  have  the 
heartiest  sympathy  with  Tennyson's  "  In  Me- 
moriam." 

Foster.  From  what  you  have  said  of  Shake- 
speare, I  seem  to  get  some  light  on  a  question 
that  has  always  been  a  great  puzzle  to  me,  as 
I  suppose  it  has  been  to  many  others  both 
before  and  since  Bishop  Warburton  :  Why 
there  is  so  little  said  by  the  writers  of  the  Old 
Testament  about  a  future  life,  although  the 
subject  must  have  been  familiar  to  them  in  the 
form  in -which  it  was  treated  by  their  neigh- 
bors, the  Egyptians.  History  shows  us  that 
the  Eschatology  —  is  not  that  the  word  ?  — 
of  the  Egyptians  was  not  so  favorable  to  the 
moral    and    intellectual   growth   and   vigor   of 


Love  and  Marriage  119 

national  life,  as  was  the  simpler  and  almost 
negative  faith  of  the  Hebrews.  Though  there 
are  passages  in  the  Psalms  of  a  more  cheerful 
kind,  the  words  of  the  pious  Hezekiah  as  to 
the  unknown  world  of  the  dead  are  at  least  as 
gloomy  as  those  of  the  heroes  of  Homer  and 
Virgil. 

The  Squire.  The  Jews  seem  to  nave  felt  the 
uncertainties  as  to  a  future  life  no  less  than 
did  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  who  rose  to  such 
hopes  as  those  of  Plato  and  Cicero,  or  sank 
to  the  blank  nothingness  of  Moschus  or  of 
Horace.  It  was  that  preaching  of  the  Res- 
urrection which  the  Athenians  thought  the 
words  of  a  babbler,  which  shifted  the  centre 
and  pivot  of  man's  life,  and  so  gave  birth  to 
the  Christian  faith  in  a  life  eternal. 

Foster.  And  I  suppose  you  will  say  that 
the  change  caused  by  the  new  faith  is  reflected 
in  the  popular  imagination  by  the  change  from 
the  descent  into  Pluto's  gloomy  realm  across 
the  Styx  by  help  of  Charon  and  his  boat,  to  the 
crossing  of  the  Jordan  at  the  summons  of  the 
messengers  whose  raiment  shone  like  gold  and 
their  faces  as  the  light,  and  the  going  up  to 
the  Celestial  City  and  into  the  presence  of  iis 
King  with  chariots  and  horses  and  triumphal 
music,  by  Bunyan's  pilgrims. 

Tfw  Squire.  Yes.  And  I  like  to  think  that  it 
was  Bunyan's  latest  experience  which  led  him 


120  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

to  describe  Christiana's  passage  of  the  River 
as  one  in  which  there  was  nothing  but  joy, 
without  even  that  small  measure  of  fear  which 
Christian  had  for  a  moment  felt,  as  the  waters 
went  over  his  head.  I  often  think  that  that 
description  of  the  arrival  of  the  Messenger, 
and  of  Christiana's  glad  obedience  to  his  sum- 
mons, is  what  I  should  wish  to  hear  read  to 
me  in  the  hour  when  my  own  summons  has 
come. 

But  hark  !  the  bells  have  begun  again.  The 
friendly  ringers  who  welcomed  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  to  church  in  the  morning  are  now 
speeding  them  on  their  going  away.  And  this 
talk  of  ours,  serious  as  it  has  become,  is,  I 
hope,  not  unfittingly  rounded  with  the  joyful 
and  merry  peal. 


VI. 


BOOKS  :   TENNYSON    AND   MAURICE. 

Wondrous  indeed  is  the  virtue  of  a  true  Book. 

Carlyle. 

The  man  that  is  dear  to  God. 

Tennyson  to  Maurice. 

It  was  raining  hard  ;  and  as  it  is  the  fashion, 
in  a  country  house,  to  like  a  fire  on  a  wet  day 
even  in  summer,  we  sat  before  the  logs  blazing 
on  the  hearth  in  the  Great  Parlor,  while  in 
front  of  us  sat  purring  the  family  cat,  who  an- 
swered, when  he  thought  fit  to  answer,  to  the 
name  of  Jim.  Books  were  all  round  us,  and 
our  talk  naturally  turned  on  them.     I  said,  — 

"Of  all  our  English  books  existing  and  to 
come,  how  many  will  always  live?" 

The  Squire,  There  are  two  ways  in  which  a 
book  may  live.  It  may  live,  age  after  age,  in 
itself,  like  one  of  our  great  oaks,  as  Carlyle 
has  finely  d<  <  ribed  it  in  "Sartor  Resartus."  I 
think  the  book  is  on  the  table:  pray  read  the 

Foster  (takes  the  book,  turns  over  the  pages, 

and  reads;.     "  Wondrous,  indeed,  is  the  virtue 


122  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

of  a  true  Book.  Not  like  a  dead  city  of 
stones,  yearly  crumbling,  yearly  needing  re- 
pair j  more  like  a  tilled  field,  but  then  a 
spiritual  field :  like  a  spiritual  tree,  let  me 
rather  say,  it  stands  from  year  to  year,  and 
from  age  to  age  (we  have  Books  that  already 
number  some  hundred  and  fifty  human  ages)  ; 
and  yearly  comes  its  new  produce  of  leaves 
(Commentaries,  Deductions,  Philosophical,  Po- 
litical Systems  ;  or  were  it  only  Sermons,  Pam- 
phlets, Journalistic  Essays),  every  one  of  which 
is  talismanic  and  thaumaturgic,  for  it  can  per- 
suade men.  O  thou  who  art  able  to  write  a 
Book,  which  once  in  the  two  centuries  or 
oftener  there  is  a  man  gifted  to  do,  envy  not 
him  whom  they  name  City-builder,  and  inex- 
pressibly pity  him  whom  they  name  Conqueror 
or  City-burner !  Thou  too  art  a  Conqueror 
and  Victor,  but  of  the  true  sort,  namely,  over 
the  Devil ;  thou  too  hast  built  what  will  outlast 
all  marble  and  metal,  and  be  a  wonder-bringing 
city  of  the  mind,  a  Temple  and  Seminary  and 
Prophetic  Mount,  whereto  all  kindreds  of  the 
Earth  will  pilgrim.  Fool !  why  journeyest  thou 
wearisomely  in  thy  antiquarian  fervor  to  gaze 
on  the  stone  pyramids  of  Geeza  or  the  clay 
ones  of  Sacchara?  These  stand  there,  as  I 
can  tell  thee,  idle  and  inert,  looking  over  the 
Desert,  foolishly  enough,  for  the  last  three 
thousand  years  ;  but  canst  thou  not  open  thy 


Books  :  Tennyson  and  Maurice  1 23 

Hebrew  Bible,  thus,  or  even  Luther's  version 
thereof?" 

The  Squire.  For  "  Luther's  "  read  "  the  Eng- 
lish "  and  then  add  Shakespeare,  and  you  will 
have  one  answer  to  your  question.  I  cannot 
doubt  that  so  long  as  English  shall  endure  as 
the  speech  of  a  civilized  people,  so  long  will 
the  English  Bible  and  Shakespeare  endure; 
and  English-speaking  people  will  still,  like 
Archbishop  Sharp,  owe  all  their  success  in  life 
to  those  two  books. 

Foster.  Did  Archbishop  Sharp  know  any- 
thing of  either  the  English  Bible  or  Shake- 
speare ? 

The  Squire.  Not  the  Archbishop  of  tragic 
Scottish  history,  but  the  Archbishop  of  York, 
Queen  Anne's  trusted  counselor,  who,  Burnet 
tells  us,  so  spoke  of  what  he  owed  to  the  Bible 
and  Shakespeare,  and  used  to  recommend  the 
like  studies  to  the  young  clergy.  And  Tenny- 
son is  said  to  have  advised  a  young  man  to 
read  a  verse  of  the  Bible  and  one  of  Shake- 
speare every  clay.  "  From  the  one,"  he  said, 
"you  will  learn  your  relations  with  God  ;  from 
the  other,  your  relations  witli  man."  But  there 
is  another  way  in  which  books  live.  To  illus- 
trate this,  let  me  go  from  Carlyle  to  Chaucer: 

"  Out  of  the  olde  fieldes,  as  men  saith 

oeth  til  tin  .  new  corn,  from  year  to  year. 

Ami  out  of  olde  bookes,  in  good  faith, 
Cometh  nil  this  new  n  n  lore." 


124  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Without  working  the  illustration  to  death,  we 
may  say  that,  with  a  very  few  exceptions,  the 
knowledge  which  we  derive  from  books  is  not 
derived  direct  from  the  original  books  in  which 
it  was  first  brought  forth,  but  from  a  succes- 
sion of  new  books,  in  which  the  experiences 
and  the  thoughts  of  the  preceding  generation 
are  represented  with  the  new  developments 
and  in  the  new  forms  suited  to  the  new  gen- 
eration. Each  year  yields  its  harvest  of  new 
books,  which  supply  our  mental  and  moral 
food  for  the  day,  and  no  more ;  while  a  small 
portion  of  the  knowledge  they  contain  be- 
comes a  reserve  of  seed  corn,  which  is  resown 
to  provide  the  new  books  of  the  next  year  or 
the  next  generation.  If  we  say,  with  Chaucer, 
that  the  new  knowledge  comes  from  the  old 
books,  as  the  new  wheat  does  from  the  old 
fields,  we  must  then  shift  the  comparison,  and 
say  that  the  new  books  are  the  new  corn,  and 
that  the  old  books  have  lost  their  individuality, 
ceasing  to  be  more  than  the  clods  of  the 
ploughed  fields. 

Foster.  I  believe  you  might  have  quoted 
Carlyle  as  well  as  Chaucer  for  this  comparison, 
too.  I  think  he  somewhere  says,  perhaps  quot- 
ing Goethe,  "A  loaf  of  bread  is  good  and 
satisfying  for  a  single  day ;  but  corn  cannot 
be  eaten,  and  seed  corn  must  not  be  ground." 
But  do  you  think  that  the  Bible  and   Shake- 


Books:  Tennyson  and  Maurice  125 

speare  are  the  only  books  which  will  them- 
selves live  on  so  long  as  the  world  of  civiliza- 
tion lasts  ?  Even  within  the  limits  of  English- 
speaking  civilization,  will  not  Paradise  Lost 
and  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  live  on,  not 
merely  in  spirit,  but  in  their  actual  old  forms  ? 
The  Squire.  Since  the  art  of  printing  has 
come  in  aid  of  the  earlier  institution  of  public 
libraries,  it  may  seem  impossible  that  any- 
thing short  of  an  universal  return  to  barbarism 
should  utterly  destroy  the  great  masterpieces 
of  literature,  ancient  or  modern,  so  that  they 
should  no  longer  live  in  the  very  forms  in 
which  they  were  first  given  to  the  world.  Yet 
we  know  that  the  readers  of  each  of  such 
books  are  a  small  and  limited  class  ;  and  of 
these,  again,  the  number  is  still  smaller  of 
readers  who  find  in  the  particular  book  the 
last  and  the  best  expression  of  the  subject  of 
which  it  treats.  Poetry  must  always  be  read 
for  its  own  sake,  and  there  will  always  be  a 
few  who  will  continue  thus  to  read  Homer 
and  Horace,  Dante,  Chaucer  and  Spenser,  for 
their  own  sake.  But  even  of  those  who  in 
each  generation  are  really  lovers  of  poetry,  by 
far  the  greater  number  will  seek  and  find  what 
they  want  in  the  poets  of  their  own  time, 
because  such  poets  most  directly  bring  forth 
the  deepest  thoughts  and  feelings  of  that  time; 
while  the   reader  of  the  older  poetry  must  be 


126  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

able  —  and  every  one  is  not  able  —  either  to 
translate  old  thoughts  into  new  for  himself,  or 
else  to  transport  himself  in  imagination  into 
the  far-off  time  and  place  to  which  the  book 
before  him  belongs.  And  when  we  turn  from 
poetry  to  philosophy,  history,  or  science,  it  is 
mainly,  if  not  entirely,  for  the  sake  of  the 
materials  which  the  old  books  supply  for  mak- 
ing new  ones  that  the  old  are  studied.  In 
each  of  these  kinds  of  knowledge  there  is  an 
absolute  need  that  the  old  facts,  arguments, 
and  methods  of  thought  and  reasoning  should 
be  reproduced  in  new  forms,  generation  after 
generation.  To  do  this  work,  through  the 
study  of  the  okl  books,  is  the  calling  of  one 
or  two  men  in  each  generation  ;  and  they,  and 
they  only,  find  in  themselves  the  ability  for 
the  work.  Such  a  student  will  no  doubt  often 
be  charmed  by  the  style  and  language  of  the 
bcok  itself,  be  it  Plato,  Aristotle,  Cicero, 
Bacon,  Tacitus,  Hume,  or  Gibbon  ;  but  his 
main  business  will  still  be  with  the  materials 
which  his  author  supplies  for  new  work. 

Foster.  I  cannot  deny  that  there  is  a  good 
deal  of  truth  in  what  you  say ;  but  I  am  glad 
to  believe  that,  like  a  man  who  belongs  to 
several  London  clubs,  I  belong  to  several  of 
those  limited  classes  of  readers  of  old  books, 
and  that  there  are  a  good  many  books  beside 
the  Bible  and  Shakespeare  which  I  can  read 


Books:  Tennyson  and  Maurice  127 

and  enjoy  for  their  own  sakes.  But  may  I 
ask  you  again  whether  you  think  those  the 
only  two  books  of  universal  interest  to  English- 
speaking  men,  at  least  ?  Will  you  not  include 
Paradise  Lest  and  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  with 
these,  and  indeed  some  others,  too,  which  I 
could  name  ? 

The  Squire.  I  decline  to  dogmatize.  I  am 
too  old  to  believe  that  I  possess  any  formula 
which  will  methodize  and  explain  the  facts  of 
the  universe.  I  feel  more  certain  about  the 
Bible  and  Shakespeare  than  about  any  other 
books ;  but  there  are  others,  and  especially 
those  you  mention,  as  to  which  facts  are  at 
present  in  favor  of  their  personal  immortality, 
if  I  may  use  so  vile  a  phrase.  The  religious  and 
the  human  interest  of  Paradise  Lost  and  The 
Pilgrim's  Progress  are  of  the  highest,  and  you 
may  almost  say  that  every  one  who  reads  at 
all  reads  both  of  these  books.  Every  one  to 
whom  the  conflict  of  nature  and  spirit  is  a 
practical  reality,  and  many  to  whom  it  is  only 
a  curiously  interesting  dream,  find  the  most 
lifelike  representation  of  this  conflict  in  Bun- 
yan's  allegory.  And  Milton  embodies  for  us 
in  forms  at  once  of  deepest  human  interest 
and  perfect  beauty  of  imagination,  thought, 
and  language,  the  most  popular  and  most 
widely  accepted  attempt  to  solve  the  great 
problem    of    the    existence     of    evil,    and    so 


128  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

lighten   the   burden    and   the    mystery   which 
have  weighed  so  heavily  on  us  in  all  ages. 

Foster.  That  is  indeed  the  awful  riddle  of 
the  Sphinx,  which  she  calls  on  every  thought- 
ful man  to  answer,  or  be  devoured.  Happy  is 
he  who  can  even  baffle  or  otherwise  put  off 
the  question  which  no  one  can  answer !  You 
cannot  think  that  Milton  has  done  more  than 
this  ?  He  invokes  the  highest  inspiration,  that 
he  may  rise  to  the  height  of  this  great  argu- 
ment, and  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  man  ; 
but  in  truth  he  gets  no  further  than  St.  Paul 
had  done  before  him  when  he  declared  that 
those  ways  were  past  finding  out.  Indeed, 
Milton  seems,  half  cynically,  to  admit  this  to 
be  so,  when,  later  on,  he  makes  the  more 
amiable  of  his  devils  sit  on  a  hill  retired, 
discussing  these  questions  till  they  lose  them- 
selves in  wandering  mazes.  The  answer  that 
came  to  Job  out  of  the  whirlwind  was  only 
that  finite  and  mortal  man  cannot  fathom  the 
purposes  and  the  methods  of  the  Almighty 
Creator  of  the  universe ;  nor  does  the  writer 
of  the  book,  in  his  visionary  narrative,  carry 
the  argument  any  further.  The  book  of  Eccle- 
siastes,  that  practical  summary  of  the  worldly 
experiences  of  man's  frustrated  ideals  and 
hopes  of  life,  can  give  no  other  conclusion  of 
the  matter  than  the  direction  to  "fear  God 
and  keep  his  commandments ;  for  this  is  the 


Books:  Tennyson  and  Maurice  129 

whole  duty  of  man."  Nor  does  St.  Paul  help 
us.  He  declares,  indeed,  with  entire  confi- 
dence and  conviction,  that  the  problem  will 
hereafter  be  solved  in  the  complete  and  abso- 
lute triumph  of  good  over  evil ;  but  after  an 
attempt  to  apply  his  argument  to  the  story  of 
Pharaoh,  in  a  way  which  I  must  think  no 
argument  at  all,  he  gives  it  up,  and  falls  back, 
as  I  said  just  now,  on  that  which  still  re- 
mains the  only  answer.  I  forget  how  Robinson 
Crusoe  evaded  the  difficulty  when  Friday  asked 
him,  in  the  course  of  his  religious  education, 
'■Why  God  no  kill  devil?"  I  suppose,  by 
making  a  metaphysical  distinction  between 
necessity  and  free  will.  Our  modern  Agnos- 
tics, interested  only  in  physical  science,  will 
say  that  they  do  not  know  whether  there  be 
any  God  or  devil,  and  so  pass  by  on  the  other 
side.  There  is  no  answer  to  the  Sphinx's 
riddle  ;  but  to  say  that  there  is  no  riddle  is 
to  deny  half  the  facts  of  our  life. 

The  Syuirc.  I  quite  agree  with  you.  In- 
deed, you  have  understated  your  case  and  its 
complications.  Not  only  is  the  existence  of 
evil  a  my.stery  to  all  who  believe  intelligently 
in  a  wi.^e  and  good  Creator,  but  there  is  the 
yet  deeper  mystery  that  all  the  higher  forms 
of  any  human  virtue,  affection,  sympathy,  are 
called  forth  by  the  contradiction  of  corre- 
sponding  forms   of   evil  ;    nay,   the   highest  of 


130  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

all,  self-sacrifice  for  the  sake  of  others,  seems 
to  owe  its  very  existence  to  the  evil  which  it 
rises  up  to  meet.  A  man  may  judge  for  him- 
self whether  the  sufferings  of  mind  or  body 
which  he  is  called  on  to  endure  are  compen- 
sated, or  more  than  compensated,  by  the  bless- 
ings which  they  have  brought  with  them,  and 
giving,  as  they  so  often  do,  a  double  power  to 
every  power  above  their  original  functions  and 
offices.  But  how  can  it  be  morally  worth 
while  that  the  highest  goodness  and  happiness 
of  some  men  should  have  as  necessary  condi- 
tions not  merely  the  suffering  and  misery  of 
others,  but  even  their  crimes  and  sins  ?  And 
again,  how  can  it  be  reasonable  or  right  that 
my  happiness,  however  great,  should  have  been 
bought  by  the  horrible  sufferings  of  the  mar- 
tyrs by  whom  it  has  been  so  won  ?  You  may 
say  that  they  were  willing  to  pay  that  price  for 
the  happiness  of  a  world.  I  believe  they  were 
so  willing ;  but  how  can  I  have  any  moral  right 
to  benefit  by  a  sacrifice  such  as  I  certainly 
could  not  make  myself  ?  I  have  no  doubt  — 
I  am  heartily  convinced  —  that  there  is  a  solu- 
tion to  the  problem,  an  answer  to  the  Sphinx ; 
and  I  could  supply  myself  with  more  than  one 
fanciful  explanation  which  I  like  better  than 
those  of  my  neighbors.  But  I  do  not  pretend 
to  understand,  nor  that  any  understanding  is 
possible  for  me  till  I  have  crossed  the  bar. 


Books  :  Tennyson  and  Maurice  131 

Foster.  You  quote  Tennyson  :  do  you  think 
he  has  given  us  any  new  light  on  the  subject  ? 
It  has  manifestly  occupied  his  deepest  thoughts 
and  feelings,  and  influenced  his  whole  career 
as  a  poet. 

The  Squire.  I  think  he  is  the  greatest 
teacher  of  our  generation  in  this  matter.  He 
has  stated  the  question  in  the  most  complete 
and  adequate  way  in  which  it  is  possible  to 
state  it,  —  for  our  generation,  at  least ;  for  each 
age  has  it  own  way  of  looking  at  such  ques- 
tions, and  demands  its  own  requirements  to  be 
respected.  His  "  In  Memoriam  "  sets  out  fully, 
and  his  poem  of  "Vastness"  and  that  on  the 
death  of  the  Duke  of  Clarence  sum  up  in  the 
plainest  terms,  the  real  problem,  without  any 
shirking  or  evasion.  With  equal  clearness  he 
points  out  the  direction  to  which  he  must  look 
for  the  solution  which  will  come  hereafter ; 
and  he  declares,  and  calls  on  all  true  hearts  to 
accept,  his  conviction  that  the  death  of  those 
we  love  is  the  link  which  connects  the  now 
insoluble  problem  with  the  promise  that  it 
shall  be  one  day  answered. 

Foster,  Yes;  Tennyson  states  the  insoluble 
problem  without  reticence  or  rhetorical  eva- 
I  [e  talk  1  no  stuff  aboul  partial  evil  be- 
ing universal   good,  or  of  good   and   evil   being 

opposite  Bides  of  a  whole,  in  whi<  h  they  are 
try  <  omplements  oi  ea<  h  other. 


132  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


He  treats  them  as  not  merely  opposites.  but  as 
contradictory.  There  is  no  place  for  evil  in 
his  ideal  of  a  perfect  universe.  There  can  be 
no  belief  in  a  divine  Creator,  and  no  peace  or 
happiness  for  the  heart  of  man,  but  in  the 
ultimate  elimination  and  destruction  of  all  evil, 
moral  and  physical.  But  does  he  carry  us  any 
farther  than  this  ? 

The  Squire.  One  step,  at  least ;  and  I  should 
say  more  than  one.  It  is  from  Death  —  "  his 
truer  name  is  Onward,"  he  says  —  that  Tenny- 
son draws  the  promise  of  the  solution  here- 
after. The  great  argument  which  he  gradually 
opens  out  in  "  In  Memoriam  "  he  sums  up  again 
in  the  concluding  words  of  "  Vastness  :  "  — 

"  I  loved  him,  and  love  him  forever :  the  dead  are  not  dead, 
but  alive." 

That  is  to  say  that  the  love  which  he  bore  to 
his  friend,  and  again  to  his  son,  did  not  die 
with  their  deaths,  but  still  lives,  and  will  live 
forever.  This  undying  love  is  to  him  a  witness 
that  its  object  is  actually  living,  too,  in  spite 
of  what  Death  may  seem  to  say  to  the  con- 
trary. For  that  apparent  contradiction  is  but 
the  shadow,  while  the  reality  is  to  be  found  in 
the  Sun  of  Life  towards  which  Death's  face  is 
looking.  And  if  this  experience,  this  convic- 
tion, be  true,  and  if  there  is  a  love  and  a  life 
stronger   and   more   lasting  than  death,  then 


Books:  Tennyson  and  Maurice  133 

there  is  a  Lord  of  Life  who  rules  all  this  world 
by  perfect  love.  When  we  have  gone  into  that 
world  of  light,  then  and  there  the  mystery  will 
be  made  clear. 

Foster.  He  has  crossed  the  bar,  and  put 
out  to  sea  on  that  voyage  of  discovery :  let  us 
hope  that  he  has  found  his  Pilot  in  the  ship, 
able  and  ready  to  carry  him  to  the  harbor 
where  he  would  be. 

The  Squire.  I  cannot  doubt  it.  It  is  pleas- 
ant to  think  how  often  that  image  of  a  voyage 
and  a  harbor  has  presented  itself  to  all  sorts  of 
men.  Cicero  makes  Cato,  after  speaking  of 
this  life  as  a  mere  inn,  compare  that  future 
life,  to  which  he  so  earnestly  looked  forward, 
to  the  harbor  at  the  end  of  the  voyage.  Sa'di, 
quoting,  I  think,  from  the  Koran,  says,  "  He 
who  has  Noah  for  a  pilot  need  not  fear  the 
waves  of  the  sea."  And  if  you  will  forgive  the 
garrulousness  of  an  old  man,  I  may  add  a 
little  experience  of  my  own,  which  comes  back 
to  me  as  often  as  I  recall  Tennyson's  verses 
on  "  Crossing  the  Bar." 

Foster,     What  is  that? 

The  Squire.  In  the  old  days  before  there 
were  any  railways  in  Italy,  most  of  us  who  went 
to  Naples  went  by  way  of  steamer  from  .Mar- 
seilles ;  and  it  was  at  the  end  of  November, 
seven-and-thirty  years  ago,  thai  I  took  passage 
in  such  a  steamer.     All  day  there  had  raged 


134  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

one  of  those  gales  of  wind  and  rain  which 
sweep  the  plains  of  Provence  and  the  Gulf  of 
Lyons  with  such  terrible  fury.  But  no  delay 
more  than  of  a  few  hours  was  possible,  and 
we  were  required  to  embark  at  midnight.  The 
water  seemed  smooth  as  we  went  into  the 
ship  in  the  port;  but  as  we  crossed  the  bar 
and  put  out  to  sea,  the  leap  into  the  utterly 
black  night  of  wind  and  waves  and  rain  was 
terrific.  I  could  not  see  our  pilot  face  to  face ; 
but  I  knew  that  he  was  there  through  all  that 
long  night  and  day,  and  that  on  his  skill  it 
depended  whether  we  should  reach  the  harbor 
where  we  would  be.  At  last  I  slept,  while  the 
storm  still  raged.  When  I  awoke  we  were  in 
smooth  water,  through  which  our  ship  was 
gliding  on  with  an  imperceptible  motion,  along 
that  lovely  scene  of  mountains  and  islands, 
and  vineyards,  orange  orchards,  and  olive 
woods,  which  open  out  into  the  Bay  of  Naples. 
The  day  was  breaking,  the  sun  was  rising 
upon  that  land  of  beauty,  and  the  cloudless 
depth  of  the  blue  sky  was  reflected  in  the  not 
less  intense  blue  of  the  sea. 

Foster.  I  know  that  sight,  and  cannot  won- 
der that  the  Neapolitans  themselves  should 
call  it  a  piece  of  heaven  fallen  upon  earth,  or 
say  that  he  who  has  seen  it  may  die  content. 
But  you  said  just  now  that  Tennyson  is  our 
greatest  teacher  in  the  matter  of  the  Sphinx's 


Books  :  Tennyson  and  Maurice  1 3  5 

riddle  :  do  you  put  him  above  Frederick  Mau- 
rice, of  whom  you  often  speak  as  the  greatest 
teacher  of  our  generation  ? 

The  Squire.  No.  Each  stands  first  in  his 
own  plane  of  thought  and  life  ;  but  I  should 
rather  put  them  side  by  side  than  either  above 
the  other.  Each  learnt,  and  knew  that  he 
learnt,  much  from  the  other.  Each  of  them  — 
the  poet  and  the  prophet  alike  —  felt  and  knew 
himself  to  be  a  man  sent  from  God,  and  that 
the  calling  and  the  mission  of  both  were 
essentially  the  same.  Maurice  was  primarily 
a  teacher  of  the  gospel ;  but  while  he  never 
ceased  to  declare  the  good  tidings  of  a  King- 
dom of  God  in  and  for  itself,  he  recognized 
its  pervading  presence  in  every  form  and  every 
relation  of  man's  life,  to  which  it  gave  a  new 
and  higher  worth  and  meaning.  Tennyson, 
on  the  other  hand,  shows  us  earth  and  man 
as  they  are  in  themselves,  with  all  their  com- 
plications and  interfusions  of  good  and  evil, 
happiness  and  misery,  vice  and  virtue,  and 
then  finds  himself  obliged  —  drawn  as  it  were 
by  an  irresistible  intuition  —  to  look  out  of 
and  above  this  earth  for  a  clue  through  its 
contradictions  into  a  true  order, 

Foster.  ( 'ertainly  it  is  so.  Few  of  the 
greatest  poets,  in  any  age  or  country,  have 
been  irreligious;  mosl  have  been  religious, 
recognizing  a  government  of  the  world  by  God. 


136  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

But  even  among  Christian  poets  of  the  higher 
order  of  genius,  I  can  think  of  no  one  who 
rests  on  the  faith  of  another  life  than  this 
so  distinctly  as  Tennyson  does.  To  eliminate 
this  faith  from  Tennyson's  poetry  would  in- 
deed be  to  reduce  it  to  dust  and  ashes.  What 
would  "  In  Memoriam "  or  the  parting  of 
Arthur  and  Guinevere,  "  Crossing  the  Bar  "  or 
"  The  Two  Voices,"  be  without  it  ? 

The  Squire.  You  see  this  distinction  if  you 
compare  Wordsworth  with  Tennyson.  Words- 
worth was  a  Christian  in  faith  as  well  as  life, 
and  his  mind  was  formed  in  and  through  the 
great  burst  of  enthusiastic  belief  in  the  per- 
fectibility of  human  nature  to  which  all  gen- 
erous spirits  gave  themselves  up  in  the  later 
years  of  the  eighteenth  century.  In  many 
respects  he  shared  to  the  full  in  the  general 
reaction  which  followed  on  the  excesses  of 
the  French  Revolution  j  he  became  a  Tory, 
and  he  wrote  the  "  Ecclesiastical  Sonnets." 
But  his  mind  retained  much  of  its  first  bias. 
You  see  this  in  "  The  Excursion,"  where,  while 
admitting  and  allowing  for  the  moral  and  the 
bodily  ills  of  the  society  and  the  human  nature 
generally  around  him,  he  looks  forward  to 
universal  education  of  the  people  by  the  state 
as  the  sufficient  remedy  for  all  the  evil.  We 
have  the  education,  and  it  is  well  worth 
having ;    but   I    suppose   few   expect   from   it 


Books:  Tennyson  and  Maurice  137 

now  what  Wordsworth  expected.  I,  at  least, 
look  with  Tennyson  for  a  remedy  different  in 
kind,  and  not  merely  in  degree. 

Foster.  Was  Maurice  a  man  of  letters  as 
well  as  a  theologian  ? 

The  Squire.  He  would  have  liked  to  be 
called  a  man  of  action  better  than  by  either  of 
the  other  names.  But  he  was  a  true  lover  of 
books,  and  he  always  seemed  to  me  to  know 
everything  about  every  book  and  every  writer 
of  books,  in  his  own  day  or  in  times  past. 
His  literary  culture  was  greater  than  that  of 
most  men,  —  you  see  the  evidence  of  this  in 
every  one  of  his  books  ;  and  I  believe  that 
he  who  himself  knows  most  of  other  men's 
books  will  know  most  of  the  use  which  Mau- 
rice made  of  books,  not  as  mere  storehouses 
of  facts  or  thought,  but  as  supplying  the  mem- 
ory and  mind  with  a  knowledge  and  a  culture 
which  were  all  his  own.  But  with  him  liter- 
ature and  literary  culture  were  means  to  an 
end,  and  not  the  end  itself.  He  always  spoke 
with  scornful  contempt  of  the  fine  gentlemen 
of  letters  ;  and  you  may  remember  a  letter  of 
his  to  a  pupil,  —  with  whom,  by  the  bye,  he 
had  been  reading  Plato,  —  urging  him  to  make 
politics  the  main  study  of  his  life. 

Foster,  but  I  suppose  he  was  a  political 
philosopher  rather  than  a  politician  ? 

The  Squire.     He  would   not  have  thanked 


138  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

you  for  telling  him  so.  He  would  indeed  have 
told  you  that  philosophy  being  the  search  after 
wisdom,  politics,  like  everything  else,  should 
be  an  object  of  that  search.  But  he  despised 
the  habit  of  mind  which  affects  to  rise  above 
party  politics  while  really  sinking  below  them. 
He  was  a  keen  and  eager  politician  on  all  the 
great  questions  of  the  day,  though  he  was 
sometimes  on  one  side  and  sometimes  on  the 
other.  The  earliest  of  his  tracts  in  political 
controversy  was  in  defense  of  university  sub- 
scription to  the  Thirty-Nine  Articles,  but  he 
was  found  in  hearty  sympathy  with  Lord  John 
Russell's  abolition  of  all  such  tests.  He  was 
a  leader  in  the  struggle  to  keep  the  education 
of  the  nation  in  the  hands  of  the  Church,  but 
he  heartily  approved  Mr.  Forster's  Education 
Act.  He  recognized  that  the  time  had  come 
for  the  disestablishment  of  the  Irish  Church, 
notwithstanding  his  filial  love  for  the  like 
institution  in  England.  And  while  I  recall  his 
predicting  to  me,  more  than  fifty  years  ago, 
and  with  warm  political  sympathy,  the  future 
eminence  of  the  then  unknown  but  strong 
conservative  Mr.  Gladstone,  I  recall  also  his 
appearance,  thirty  years  afterwards,  as  the 
supporter  of  John  Mill,  the  radical  candidate 
for  Westminster.  These  are  brief  instances  of 
what  the  man  was  ;  and  all  through,  no  one 
who  knew  him  could  doubt  either  his  honesty 


Books  :  Tennyson  and  Maurice  139 

or  his  consistency,  as  he  looked  in  succession 
at  the  many  ways  in  which  the  progress  of  the 
world  was  fulfilling  itself. 
Foster. 

"  We  might  discuss  the  Northern  sin 
Which  made  a  selfish  war  begin  ; 

Dispute  the  claims,  arrange  the  chances ; 
Emperor,  Ottoman,  which  shall  win  : 

"  Or  whether  war's  avenging  rod 
Shall  lash  all  Europe  into  blood." 

The  Squire.  I  always  thought  that  Tenny- 
son and  Maurice  lost  their  heads  a  little  over 
the  Crimean  war,  as  most  other  people  did  ; 
and  I  have  therefore  been  inclined  to  suppose, 
though  without  any  authority  for  doing  so, 
that  when  the  excitement  was  over  they  looked 
back  on  it,  as  did  Lord  Aberdeen,  the  minister 
who  let  us  drift  into  it,  as  not  only  a  blunder, 
but  a  crime. 

Foster.  Yet  I  have  heard  German  statesmen 
say  that  they  owe  to  that  war  the  loosening 
from  their  necks  of  the  yoke  of  Russian  policy 
and  diplomacy  under  which  they  had  so  long 
groaned. 

The  Squire.  No  doubt  some  good  was  done 
in  that  way,  but  they  would  not  touch  the 
roasting  chestnuts  with  their  own  fingers, 

Foster.  Well,  al  leasl  the  war  gave  us  "The 
Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade;"  and  though  I 
do  not  mean  to  coin;-  ire  Sir  Francis  Doyle  with 


1 40  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Tennyson,  perhaps  one  might  say  his  no  less 
fine  ballad  upon  the  same  subject. 

Hie  Squire.  They  are  fine  ballads,  and 
bring  out  finely  the  English  soldier's  ideal  of 
duty  as  the  rule  of  his  life.  But  those  who, 
like  me,  remember  the  sufferings  not  only  of 
the  army  through  that  terrible  winter,  but  also 
of  the  wives  and  mothers  at  home,  may  think 
the  price  high,  even  for  two  such  songs. 

Foster  (humming  half  to  himself). 

"  If  I  were  King  of  France, 

Or,  still  better,  Pope  of  Rome, 
I  'd  have  no  fighting  men  abroad, 
No  weeping  maids  at  home." 

But,  Squire,  are  you  really  for  peace  at  any 
price  ?  I  remember  what  you  once  wrote  in 
approval  of  the  extermination  of  the  Canaan- 
ites  by  the  children  of  Israel  and  of  the  sol- 
dier's duty,  taught  not  only  at  the  Pass  of 
Thermopylae,  but  in  the  Balaclava  charge. 

The  Squire.  No,  not  at  any  price,  but  at 
almost  any  price,  as  Sir  John  Lubbock  said 
the  other  day  in  the  House  of  Commons.  For 
every  nation  there  exists  a  real  danger  of 
attacks,  from  within  or  without,  on  its  laws 
and  liberties ;  and  it  is  not  only  its  right,  but 
its  duty,  to  defend  itself,  and  sometimes  its 
weaker  neighbors  too,  against  such  attacks.  If 
we  cannot  keep  our  national  life,  with  its  laws 
and  its  freedom,  without  war,  let  us  have  war; 


Books:  Tennyson  and  Maurice  141 

but  let  us  not  go  into  it  "with  a  light  heart," 
talking  glibly  of  honor  and  spirit  on  the  one 
hand,  and  of  humiliation  and  shop-keeping 
on  the  other.  I  am  old  enough  to  remember 
when  even  many  a  wise  and  good  man  talked 
that  sort  of  stuff  about  dueling,  and  really 
believed  that  it  was  a  moral  duty  to  shoot,  or 
be  shot  by,  any  ruffian  who  called  him  a  liar 
or  struck  him.  No  one  says  or  thinks  that 
now,  and  ruffianism  has  abated,  not  increased, 
in  proportion. 

Foster.  Is  it  not  the  fact  that  all  the  great 
nations  of  the  world,  modern  as  well  as  an- 
cient, have  had  their  foundations  laid  by  war, 
and  that  they  have  been  from  time  to  time 
enlarged  and  strengthened  and  invigorated  by 
means  of  war,  and  all  this  in  such  a  way  that 
we  cannot  conceive  how  the  results  could  have 
been  brought  about  except  by  war  ? 

The  Squire.  As  I  said  just  now,  I  do  not 
deny  the  existence  of  evil,  nor  the  still  more 
mysterious  fact  that  it  is  inconceivable  how 
many  of  the  highest  forms  of  moral  good  could 
■  been  brought  into  existence  except  by 
means  of  evil.  1  neither  understand  nor  deny, 
but  I  will  not  call  evil  good  for  all  that.  War 
has  brought  into  existence  soldiers  like  Chau- 
cer's "Knight,"  Wordsworth's  "Happy  War- 
rior," and  Schiller's  "Max  l'iccolomini  ;"  but 
they   have   been    but   few   in   comparison   with 


142  1'alk  at  a  Country  House 

the  countless  swarms  of  ruffians  licensed  for 
murder,  robbery,  and  lust.  And  free  as  the 
German  army  was  from  all  these  crimes  in  the 
late  Franco-German  war,  it  is  said  that  after 
the  war  was  over  there  was  an  increase  in 
crime  throughout  Germany  which  could  be 
explained  only  by  the  general  demoralization 
which  the  war  had  produced. 

Foster.  The  other  day  you  quoted  from  the 
Persian  poet  Sa'di  that  it  had  been  said  that, 
in  the  last  great  day,  the  All-Merciful  would 
forgive  the  bad  for  the  sake  of  the  good ;  but 
now  you  seem  to  hold  that  all  the  good  must 
be  condemned  on  account  of  the  bad.  I  think 
of  what  the  world  would  have  been  in  the  past 
and  present,  and  what  the  world  would  be  in 
the  future,  with  no  England  and  no  United 
States,  and  I  ask  myself  whether  too  high  a 
price  was  paid  for  these  in  the  Anglo-Saxon 
and  Norman  conquests,  the  wars  of  the  barons 
and  of  the  king  and  Parliament,  or  in  the 
American  wars  of  independence  and  emancipa- 
tion. 

The  Squite.  With  reservation  of  Friday's 
theological  difficulty,  I  agree  with  you  not  only 
ungrudgingly,  but  with  hearty  sympathy.  I 
believe  the  price  was  not  too  great.  But  was 
the  price  necessary  in  the  past,  and  will  it  be 
so  in  the  future  ?  I  say,  Yes,  men  being  what 
they   were ;    but,    No,    men   being  what   they 


Books :  Tennyson  and  Maurice  143 

ought  to  be  and  well  may  be  now.  It  is  better 
to  do  a  good  thing  badly  than  not  to  do  it  at 
all ;  but  it  is  better  still  to  do  it  well.  We  talk 
too  much  about  necessary  evils,  and  think  too 
little  of  necessary  good ;  forgetting  that  all 
good  is  possible,  and  that  in  every  case  what 
is  possible  is  necessary.  In  this  matter  of  war, 
as  in  so  many  other  things,  successive  genera- 
tions, advancing  in  the  possession  of  ever  fuller 
national  life,  with  its  rights  and  liberties,  find 
many  necessary  evils  to  be  unnecessary,  and 
much  more  impossible  good  to  be  possible. 
And  so,  if  you  will  grant  the  evils  of  war,  and 
I  its  good,  we  may  be  able,  like  Dogberry  and 
Verges,  to  "draw  to  a  point." 

Foster.     Did  Maurice  change  or  modify  his 
views  on  this  subject  ? 

The  Squire.  He  has  discussed  this  question 
of  war  in  the  eleventh  of  his  Cambridge  Lec- 
tures on  Social  Morality,  published  in  1869,  to 
which  I  would  refer  you.  But  I  can  tell  you 
a  little  incident,  trivial  in  itself,  yet  perhaps 
resting  when  told  of  a  <jr<  at  man.  No  one 
sli:ired  more  eagerly  than  did  Maurice  in  the 
outbreak  <<f  enthusiasm  with  which  the  war 
was  hailed  at  first.  When  I  ventured  to  doubt 
the  righteousness  "f  tin-  war,  he  dei  lared,  with 
indignation,  that  only  the  Spirit  of  God  could 
stir  up  and  maintain  SU»  h  a  national  enthusi- 
asm  a,   the  J  P    H  ■!)  people  wen:  then  showing. 


1 44  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

I  suppose  we  agreed  to  differ,  and  not  to 
argue.  I  do  not  think  I  asked  him  what  he 
thought  of  that  to  me  pathetic  account  of  the 
regiments  of  Russian  conscripts  having  hardly 
arrived  at  the  seat  of  war  from  very  distant 
parts  of  the  empire  when,  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning  of  that  cold  day  of  November,  all  the 
church  bells  of  Sevastopol  rang  out,  and  these 
men,  having  received  the  sacrament,  went  to 
die  for  their  Czar  in  the  lines  of  Inkerman. 
But  after  the  war  was  over,  I  was  breakfasting 
with  Maurice,  and  there  met  a  man  who  told 
the  story  of  the  Balaclava  charge  as  he  had 
lately  heard  it  from  one  of  the  officers  in  it. 
He  said  the  cursing  and  swearing  of  the 
troopers  as  they  rode  into  and  out  of  the 
Russian  battery  were  awful.  And  I  guessed 
what  thoughts  might  be  passing  through  my 
friend's  mind  when  he  said,  with  that  quiet 
and  almost  sad  seriousness  which  so  often 
characterized  his  words  and  manner,  "  I  am 
afraid  many  things  in  that  war  happened 
differently  from  what  we  supposed,"  —  or 
words  to  that  effect. 

Foster.  I  should  have  thought,  as  I  now 
think,  of  Uncle  Toby  and  his  account  of  our 
soldiers  in  Flanders.  I  think,  too,  of  the  tear 
of  the  recording  angel.  The  poor  fellows  were 
doing  their  duty,  and  their  profane  swearing 
did  not  mean  much  more  than  any  other  form 


Books  :  Tennyson  and  Maurice  145 

of  battle  shout.  I  do  not  recollect  the  men- 
tion of  shouting  in  modern  stories  of  battles, 
but  soldiers  do  shout  in  a  charge,  do  they  not? 
The  Squire.  Sir  William  Napier,  the  his- 
torian of  the  Peninsular  war,  told  a  cousin  of 
mine,  Charles  Buller,  that  it  was  the  British 
shout  which  carried  the  day  in  our  great  bat- 
tles ;  nothing  could  withstand  it.  Of  course, 
the  shout  is  the  man  ;  he  utters  what  is  in  him. 
I  remember  that  Marshal  MacMahon,  when 
comparing  the  soldiers  of  different  nations, 
said,  "The  English  do  not  understand  cam- 
paigning, but  they  are  the  best  on  the  day  of 
battle."  We  have  wandered  far,  however,  and 
I  do  not  wish  you  to  think  that  when  my  dear 
old  friend  and  I  met,  either  in  this  house  or  in 
his  own,  our  talk  was  of  nothing  but  soldiers. 
With  him  as  with  Tennyson,  he  would  always 

"  turn  to  dearer  matters, 
Dear  to  the  man  that  is  dear  to  God ; 

■•  I  low  best  to  help  the  slender  store, 
How  mend  the  dwellings  of  the  poor; 

Haw  L;.iin  in  life,  as  life  advances, 
Valor  and  chanty  more  and  more." 

Foster.  Yet  there  is  something  of  the  sol- 
dier's desire  for  action  implied  in  the  poet's 
description  in  those  words  ;  and  I  can  fancy 
that  with  Maurice  the  heart  of  the  man  of 
thought  would  always  warm  to  the  man  of 
action. 


1 46  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


The  Squire.    Yes  ;  Maurice  must  have  under- 
stood how  Luther  —  with  whom  he  had,  indeed, 
many  points  of  likeness  —  felt  when  he  was 
going  into  the   Diet  of  Worms,  and  the  old 
soldier,  Georg  von  Freundsberg,  called  out  to 
him,  "  Monk,  monk,  you  have  before  you  such 
a  day's  work  as  neither  I  nor  our  bravest  cap- 
tains have  seen  in  our  hardest  fought  battles. 
But  if  your  cause  is  just,  go  forward  boldly: 
God  will  not  forsake  you."    Maurice  wrote  two 
books    which   will    live,  for   they   are   full   of 
learning,  thought  and  genius,  —  "The   King- 
dom of  Christ,"  and  "  Moral  and  Metaphysical 
Philosophy;"  but  he  expressed  the  temper  of 
his  whole  life  when  he  once  said  to  me  that  a 
man  might  bring  greater  honor  to  his  name  by 
writing  a  great  book,  —  I  think  he  instanced 
Gibbon,  —  yet  that  he  believed  more  real  work 
was  done  in  the  world  by  having  a  part  in, 
and  writing  on,  the  actual  controversies  of  the 
day   in   which   men   were    taking   a   practical 
interest.     And  though  it  was  after  he  said  this 
that  he  wrote  the  two  books  I  have  mentioned, 
you  may  see  by  the  number,  and  still  more  by 
the  subjects,  of  the  many  volumes  of  his  col- 
lected works  how  fully  he  carried  out  through 
his   life  the  principles  he  had  laid  down  for 
himself. 

Foster.     Is  Dickinson's  portrait  like  him  ? 

The  Squire,     I   think  so,  but  it  is  difficult 


Books  :  Tennyson  and  Maurice  1 47 

to  know  how  far  I  may  be  reading  into  it  my 
own  recollections  of  the  man  himself.  There 
it  is,  and  you  may  try  it  by  my  description. 
His  face  was  very  fine  and  delicate  in  feature  ; 
the  expression  was  saintly,  though  not  quite 
the  ascetic  saintliness  which  characterizes 
some  of  the  portraits  of  great  men  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church ;  it  was  rather  tinged 
with  the  sweet,  homely  humorousness  which 
you  see  in  Cranach's  portrait  of  Luther.  The 
eyes  were  bright  and  piercing,  and  the  mouth 
was  firm  and  compressed.  The  whole  expres- 
sion of  the  face  was  energetic,  almost  aggres- 
sive, and  yet  kind  and  gentle  :  it  was  the  look 
of  a  man  who  had  a  message  to  give,  and  who 
was  resolved  to  give  it;  but  the  resoluteness 
had  more  of  self-sacrifice  than  of  self-assertion 
in  it. 

Foster.  You  spoke  of  a  humorous  expres- 
sion.    Was  he  a  humorist  ? 

The  Squire.  You  could  not  be  long  in  his 
company  without  seeing  how  strong  his  sense 
of  humor  was ;  but,  like  every  man  of  humor 
who  is  wiser  and  better  than  a  humorist,  he 
kept  his  love  of  humor  within  the  limits  of 
becoming  mirth  ;  nay,  within  limits  which  were 
habitually  serious,  often  almost  to  sadness. 

Foster.     He  bad  a  fine  voice,  had  he  not? 

The  Squire.  A  grand,  deep  voice,  well  fitted 
to  pour  out  the  volume  of  thought  and  feeling 


t  ,j.S  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

behind  it.  Bunsen  said  to  hear  him  read  the 
prayers  at  Lincoln's  Inn,  where  he  was  chap- 
lain, was  in  itself  to  hear  a  sermon  ;  and  some 
one  else  said,  still  more  expressively,  that  he 
prayed  the  prayers.  I  remember  the  out- 
spoken delight  of  one  of  the  cottagers  as  we 
came  out  of  the  church  here  when  Maurice 
had  been  preaching.  It  reminded  me  of  the 
story  of  the  learned  Pococke,  of  which  he 
(Maurice)  was  fond  :  that  when  a  friend,  visit- 
ing him  at  his  country  parish,  asked  one  of 
the  villagers  how  they  liked  their  new  parson, 
the  answer  was,  "  He  is  not  much  of  a  Latiner, 
but  he  tells  us  what  we  poor  folks  want  to 
know  about  God  and  Jesus  Christ." 

Foster.  Nullum  tetegit  quod  non  ornavit, 
—  would  you  say  that  of  his  conversation  gen- 
erally? 

The  Squire.  He  was  shy  and  retiring,  —  a 
lamb  among  the  lions,  as  a  lady  described  him 
at  a  great  party  of  Mrs.  Charles  Buller's.  He 
was  free  from  the  foible  of  omniscience  attrib- 
uted to  one  of  his  Cambridge  contemporaries, 
and  far  above  the  vanity  of  the  good  talker. 
But  no  one  could  listen  to  him  for  five  minutes 
without  perceiving  that  no  ordinary  man  was 
speaking.  In  serious  controversy  and  with 
his  pen  in  his  hand  he  hit  very  hard.  I  used 
to  tell  him  that  he  reminded  me  of  a  story  of 
his  own,  how,  when  he  was  a  young  curate,  he 


Books :  Tennyson  and  Maurice  1 49 

stopped  in  the  High  Street  in  Leamington  to 
remonstrate  with  a  man  who  was  belaboring 
his  donkey  furiously,  when  the  man  replied 
in  an  appealing  voice,  "  Why  is  he  so  stupid, 
then  ? " 

Foster.  What  does  Tennyson  refer  to  in 
those  lines  at  the  beginning:  of  his  "  Invita- 
tion,"  about  giving  the  fiend  his  due,  and  the 
anathemas  of  college  councils  ? 

The  Squire.  You  will  find  the  whole  story 
in  Colonel  Maurice's  admirable  life  of  his 
father  ;  but  it  was,  shortly,  this  :  Maurice  de- 
nounced the  irreligious  spirit  of  the  so-called 
religious  newspapers,  and  they  retaliated  by 
not  only  denouncing  him,  but  also  warning 
the  authorities  of  King's  College  that  they 
had  better  dismiss  him  from  his  professorship 
of  divinity  in  that  college.  A  packed  council 
was  convened,  a  lately  published  essay  in 
which  the  professor  had  "given  the  fiend  his 
due  "  was  made  the  pretext,  and  Maurice  was 
dismissed,  in  the  face  of  the  clearest  evidence 
that  he  had  maintained  nothing  contrary  to 
the  acknowledged  doctrines  of  the  English 
Church.  Maurice  was  one  of  the  very  few 
men  whom  I  have  known  as  lovers  of  justice 
for  its  own  sake  ;  yet  he  got  little  justice  him- 
self on  that  occasion.  But  the  rain  is  over; 
let  us  take  a  walk,  and  leave  Jim  to  keep  his 
paws  warm  at  the  fire. 


VII. 

RIDING   DOWN   TO   CAMELOT. 

The  Knight's  bones  are  dust, 
And  his  good  sword  rust  :  — 
His  soul  is  with  the  saints,  I  trust. 

Coleridge. 

The  Squire  was  from  home  for  a  day  or 
two,  on  business.  When  he  came  back,  he 
asked  the  ladies,  "  What  have  you  been  doing 
while  I  was  away?"  They  answered,  "We 
took  Mr.  Foster  to  Camelot,  to  convince  him 
that  it  was  Cadbury  in  Somersetshire,  and  not 
Winchester,  which  he  declared  Caxton  to  have 
said  it  to  be." 

The  Squire.  Caxton  was  a  wise  as  well  as 
a  good  man,  and  his  knowledge  was  great ; 
but  even  he  did  not  know  everything.  In  the 
Introduction  to  the  Globe  Edition  of  "  Morte 
Darthur"  you  will  find  the  reasons  for  holding 
that  King  Arthur's  Camelot  —  probably  from 
Camelus,  the  Celtic  god  of  war  —  was  the 
Cadbury  Castle  you  saw  yesterday.  But  per- 
haps you  are  already  convinced  that  you  had 
seen  the  true  Camelot,  and  that  Arthur  really 
held  his  court  there  ? 


Riding  down  to  Camelot  151 

Foster.  Certainly.  I  felt  like  Mopsa,  who 
loved  a  ballad  in  print,  because  then  she  knew 
it  to  be  true. 

The  Squire.  I  should  like  to  hear  your 
account  of  the  expedition.  I  know  you  keep 
a  journal. 

Foster  (fetches  a  notebook,  and  reads  from 
it).  "  We  got  to  Sparkford  at  about  one 
o'clock  on  a  day  of  terrible  midsummer  heat ; 
from  there  we  drove  to  South  Cadbury,  about 
two  miles  off.  The  drive  was  across  a  plain ; 
in  fact,  the  end  of  the  great  valley  which  runs 
up  from  the  sea,  roughly  speaking,  bounded 
by  the  Mendip  range  on  one  side,  and  the 
Polden  hills,  parallel  to  Mendip,  on  the  other, 
and  the  beginning  of  the  downs  which  join  on 
to  the  system  of  Salisbury  Plain,  shutting  in 
the  valley  at  right  angles  to  Mendip  and  the 
Polden  Hills.  In  this  great  trench  are  islands  : 
near  the  sea,  such  ones  as  Brent  Knoll ;  fur- 
ther up,  Glastonbury  Tor ;  and  furthest  from 
the  sea,  and  just  under  the  downs,  lies  Cam- 
elot. As  we  drove,  we  could  see,  looking 
towards  our  right,  the  downs  bounding  the 
horizon  with  their  characteristic  slopes,  the 
flat  tops  and  steep  slopin  des  and  general 
plainness  of  surface  which  give  to  downs  an 
individuality  among  hills.  Along  their  ridges 
were  to  be  seen  scars  on  their  sides,  showing 
old  encampments.     Close   under  these  downs 


152  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

stands  Camelot.  a  long,  regularly  sloped  hill, 
quite  isolated,  its  top  at  a  distance  looking 
nearly  horizontal,  while  the  two  ends  present 
a  slope  of  about  the  same  angle ;  the  side 
towards  us  was  thickly  wooded,  and  so  no 
ramparts  were  to  be  seen.  At  South  Cadbury, 
a  pretty  village,  with  its  little  church  and 
pollard  poplar-trees  round  it,  we  began  our 
walk.  A  narrow  lane,  with  steep  banks,  lead- 
ing out  of  the  highroad,  and  called  Castle 
Lane,  began  to  go  up  the  bill.  After  a  short 
distance  we  reached  a  gate :  here  the  lane 
widened,  and  seemed  to  go  straight  up  the  hill 
in  a  broad  ditch.  A  short  way  up,  roads 
branched  to  right  and  left ;  on  the  one  to  the 
left  was  a  gamekeeper's  cottage.  These  branch- 
ing roads  were,  in  fact,  the  first  ditches  at  the 
top  of  the  first  slope  of  earthwork.  Before 
telling  of  our  ascent  of  the  fort,  I  will  describe 
the  general  lines  on  which  the  defenses  are 
made,  as  this  will  simplify  the  account  I  am 
going  to  give  of  the  details.  Imagine  to  your- 
self a  plain  out  of  which  rises  a  hill,  two 
hundred  feet  high  of  regular  shape ;  on  the 
northern  side  a  slight  slope  up  from  the  plain 
suddenly  turns  into  a  steep  rampart  of  about 
fifty  feet,  so  steep  that  we,  like  Camden,  found 
it  easier  to  run  down  it  than  walk.  Gaining 
the  top  of  this  first  rampart,  you  find  yourself 
on  a  narrow  edge,  sloping  steeply  down  to  a 


Riding  down  to  Camelot  1 53 

ditch,  a  slope  of  perhaps  ten  feet ;  from  the 
bottom  of  this  ditch  rises  the  second  rampart, 
of  about  the  same  height  as  the  first,  which 
again  ends  in  an  edge  sloping  down  to  a 
second  ditch,  from  which  rises  the  third  ram- 
part, like  the  second,  but  not  so  high  as  the 
first  and  second,  though  as  steep ;  this,  too, 
has  its  ditch,  and  from  it  rises  the  fourth  and 
last  rampart.  The  top  of  this  one  is  embanked 
about  ten  feet  above  the  nearly  flat  top  of  the 
hill.  This  is  a  space  of  some  twenty  acres, 
and  at  the  eastern  end  enters  the  roadway 
leading  up  from  the  bottom  to  where  I  have 
said  we  first  began  to  climb,  the  roadway 
cutting  through  ditches  and  ramparts.  This 
entrance  was,  no  doubt,  protected  by  the  iron 
gates  which  still  live  in  tradition.  So  the  road 
enters  the  oval  top  of  the  hill  at  the  eastern 
end.  Opposite,  at  the  western  end,  another 
road  just  like  this  one  comes  up  from  the 
bottom  ;  a  little  to  the  north  of  this  western 
gate  the  ground  rises  in  a  knoll,  called  Arthur's 
Castle,  and  is  the  highest  part  of  the  hill, 
being  five  hundred  feet  above  the  sea.  It  has 
steep  sides,  which  seem  partly  t he  result  of 
art.  and  partly  natural. 

"One  could  not  help  being  struck  by  the 
simple  earth  walls  and  their  primitive  strength, 
and  feeling  how  different  must  have  been  the 
people  who  lived   here  in  rude  strength  from 


154  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

the  gorgeous  images  of  the  Camelot  of  Malory. 
How  entirely  the  life  here  must  have  differed 
from  the  mediaeval  surroundings  from  which 
he  drew*'  his  color !  And  we  could  not  help 
wondering  who  were  the  people  who  began  to 
make  a  fortress  out  of  the  hill,  and  what  were 
the  names  of  those  who  had  brought  these 
earth  mounds  and  ditches  to  such  perfection 
of  strength.  Strange  that  the  genius  that 
planned  and  the  energy  that  executed  should 
have  left  only  the  work  accomplished,  and  no 
record  of  those  by  whose  might  it  was  framed  ! 
Strange  that  a  people  so  great,  who  could 
carve  the  everlasting  hills  into  citadels,  and 
whose  mounds  and  ditches  have  survived  '  the 
drums  and  tramplings  of  three  conquests,' 1 
should  have  left  no  name  even  in  the  histories 
of  nations  now  dead  ! 

"  '  But  the  iniquity  of  oblivion  blindly  scat- 
tereth  her  poppy,  and  deals  with  the  memory 
of  men  without  distinction  to  merit  of  perpetu- 
ity. Who  can  but  pity  the  founder  of  the 
Pyramids  ?  Herostratus  lives  that  burnt  the 
temple  of  Diana;  he  is  almost  lost  that  built 
it.'1 

The  greater  part  of  the  hill  is  wooded. 
This,  unfortunately,  hides  the  ramparts  and 
ditches,  except  at  close  quarters,  but  then 
they  are  seen  clearly.     We  made  our  way  up 

1  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  Urn  Burial. 


Riding  down  to  Camelot  155 

through  the  eastern  entrance,  walked  across 
the  oval  top,  and  went  out  at  the  western  gate 
down  the  hill  to  the  bottom,  where  we  found  a 
wall  below  the  last  rampart  shutting  in  the  hill 
from  the  fields  round.  We  then  walked  round 
the  northern  slope  inside  this  wall,  in  search 
of  the  Wishing  Well.  After  going  a  little  way, 
the  Squire's  daughter  saw  a  cow  "  — 

The  Squire  (interrupting).  And  you  all  ran 
for  your  lives,  I  suppose  ? 

Foster.  No,  we  did  not.  The  young  lady 
only  availed  herself,  as  her  father  would  have 
done,  of  the  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  the 
higher  criticism,  as  you  will  see  if  you  let  me 
go  on,  —  "  saw  a  cow  on  the  top  of  the  first 
rampart  above  us  (here  not  very  high),  and 
thought  this  mij;ht  indicate  water.  We  went 
to  the  place  only  to  find  a  muddy  pool,  and 
were  thinking  of  going  on  farther,  when  the 
other  lady  of  the  party,  her  sister-in-law,  no- 
ticed, a  little  to  the  right  of  the  pool,  a  few 
steps  above  it,  a  small  inclosure  some  twenty 

•  square,  made  by  a  low,  dry  wall ;  going 
into  this,  she  found  the  well.  The  second 
rampart  slopes  up  at  the  back  of  the  little 
inclosure,  nuking  one  of  its  walls;  in  its  side, 
on  the  ground,  is  the  Wishing  Well.  A  blo<  1: 
of  stone,  about  four  feet  long,  lias  keen  hol- 
ed "Ml  int'-  .1  (  ir<  11l.11  .in  1),  the  inside  of 
which   is  cut    into  a  scallop  shell  ;    this  block 


156  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

might  be  the  top  part  or  roof  of  a  semicircular 
niche,  though  here  it  rests  on  no  pillars,  but 
the  ground,  so  the  opening  is  only  some  two 
feet  high  and  three  long;  the  surface  of  the 
water  was  about  a  foot  below  the  ground,  in  a 
little  basin  built,  apparently,  of  brick,  on  the 
same  plan  as  the  scalloped  roof,  —  that  is,  in 
front  straight,  the  back  a  half-round.  The 
water  was  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  of  icy  cold- 
ness. Although  the  shape  of  the  stone  was 
evidently  not  very  old,  possibly  of  the  time  of 
Queen  Anne,  as  it  is  sometimes  called  Queen 
Anne's  Well,  still,  here  it  seemed  a  living 
thing  of  the  past.  The  soft  gurgle  of  the 
spring,  as  it  ran  away  in  some  hidden  channel, 
heard  only  when  one  bent  close  to  the  water, 
made  one  feel  it  was  thus  that  this  spring  ran 
when  those  ramparts  over  our  heads,  now 
slumbering  in  peaceful  decay,  had  resounded 
to  the  busy  life  of  a  capital  city  of  the  old 
British  kingdom,  or  had  echoed  to  the  battle 
cry  of  a  mightier  race,  the  torrent  of  whose 
conquest  this  citadel  had  stayed,  but  not 
arrested.  Not  only  did  the  well  put  us  in 
touch  with  '  the  clouded  forms  of  long  past 
history,'  but  we  also  thought  of  those  whom 
poets  have  made  much  clearer. 

"  '  Feigned  of  old  or  fabled  since, 
Of  faery  damsels  met  in  forest  wide 
By  Knights  of  Logres  or  of  Lyones, 
Lancelot  of  Pelleas  or  Pellenore.' 


Riding  down  to  Camelot  157 

For,  at  Camelot,  Arthur  and  his  knights  still 
ride  at  the  full  moon  and  water  their  horses  at 
this  well.  The  hill  of  ramparts  and  ditches 
rose  in  the  imagination  to  something  much 
more  than  a  stockaded  camp  of  a  savage  tribe, 
and,  like  Leland  before  us,  we  felt  that  we 
were  at  the  local  habitation  of  those  airy  no- 
things, those  fancies  of  poets'  brains,  King 
Arthur  and  his  Knights  of  the  Round  Table, 
whose  deeds  had  played  as  important  a  part 
as  had  Troy  the  ancient,  and  influenced  the 
modern  world  as  greatly.  Whether  it  was  from 
such  thoughts  as  these  or  not  I  cannot  say, 
but  the  water  of  the  Wishing  Well  seemed  a 
draught  inspiring  beyond  all  other  water.  But 
we  had  other  things  to  see  yet,  and  above  all 
to  prove  if  the  hill  were  hollow;  for  the 
legends  of  the  country  assert  that  a  noise 
made  at  King  Arthur's  Well  is  heard  at  the 
Wishing  Well ;  so  the  ladies  stayed  at  the 
latter,  while  I  started  in  search  of  King  Ar- 
thur's Well,  the  other  spring  on  the  hill.  This 
I  found  at  no  great  distance,  close  to  the 
cottage,   and  on    the    left   side    of    the   eastern 

i  up  the  hill.  There  was  a  stone  with  a 
round  hole  in  it  about  two  feet  across,  the  well 
below  being  a  circular  place  about  four  feet 

:>,  full  of  filthy  and  all  but  stagnant  water, 
and  quite  powerless  to  excite  the  imagination! 
At  the  appointed   time   1  made  much  noise  by 


158  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

hitting  boards  and  sticks  on  the  mouth  of  the 
well ;  but  on  going  back  to  the  Wishing  Well 
found  that  my  noises  had  not  been  heard. 
Considering  that  we  had  drunk  deep  of  the 
clear  spring,  I  was  relieved  to  think  it  did 
not  communicate  with  the  poisonous  waters  of 
King  Arthur's  Well.  We  now  set  out  to  see 
more  of  the  southern  side,  and,  walking  along 
past  the  cottage,  found  ourselves  on  the  top 
of  the  first  rampart.  On  the  southeastern 
slope  the  walls  of  earth  stand  out  in  bald 
grandeur,  for  there  are  no  trees,  and  here  we 
could  appreciate  the  enormous  strength  of  the 
ramparts  rising  tier  above  tier  over  our  heads. 
I  have  seen  other  camps  of  this  kind,  but 
never  anything  like  this ;  the  steepness  of  the 
sides  and  the  regularity  of  the  slopes  make  it 
a  striking  spectacle.  As  we  got  farther  round 
on  the  south  side,  trees  began  again,  though 
more  scattered ;  and  as  we  climbed  up  gradu- 
ally, startling  countless  rabbits,  and  at  one 
place  a  badger,  the  views  became  of  great 
beauty,  till,  reaching  the  top  of  the  southern 
side,  near  the  west  gate,  we  looked  down  on 
the  village  of  Sutton  Montis.  Nothing  could 
have  been  more  lovely.  A  little  brook  with 
willows  skirted  the  fortress,  after  leaving  the 
downs  opposite  whence  it  rose ;  across  this 
brook  lay  a  vast  orchard,  the  orderly  rows  of 
its  great  trees  clearly  seen  from  our  height; 


Riding  down  to  Camelot  159 

beyond  this  came  the  'pleasant  villages  and 
farms  adjoined,'  —  one  especially  glowing  roof 
of  almost  crimson  tiles  took  the  eye  ;  beyond 
this,  again,  the  church,  and  then  the  vast 
sweep  of  view  towards  Dorsetshire.  From 
here  we  went  through  the  western  gate  of  the 
top  of  the  camp,  and  descended  the  hill  by  the 
road  at  that  end,  leaving  Camelot  by  the  west, 
having  come  there  by  the  east.  We  then  went 
a  pleasant  way  across  the  grounds,  orchards, 
and  fields,  till  a  path  near  the  river  took  us 
back  into  Sparkford,  where  the  interval  till 
our  train  was  due  was  filled  by  many  cups  of 
tea  in  a  pleasant  old  inn.  The  train  took  us 
home  in  a  golden  evening,  and  we  were  left 
with  visions  of  romance  and  of  the  monumental 
handiwork  of  a  vanished  people,  all  seen 
through  a  halo  of  midsummer  sunlight."  * 

The  Squire.  Very  good  geography,  physical, 
military,  and  archaeological ;  not  without  a 
touch,  too,  of  purple  patch,  and  some  of  a 
very  fine  purple. 

Foster.  If  it  had  been  full  moon  or  the  eve 
of  St.  John,  I  think  I  should  have  begged  the 
ladies  to  stay  with  me,  or  to  leave  me  there, 
that  I,  too,  might  hear  and  see  Arthur  and  his 
knights  come  riding  down  King  Arthur's  Lane, 
as,    according    to    local    tradition,    they   have 

1  An  account  of  an  actual  visit,  by  my  son,  Mr.  Henry 
Strachey, 


160  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

never  left  off  doing  since  the  days  of  Lei  and, 
whose  account  I  have  just  being  reading,  who 
tells  us  of  the  silver  horseshoe  that  one  of 
them  had  cast  in  such  a  ride. 

The  Squire.  I  have  often  fancied  that  if  I 
had  the  poet's  gift  of  looking  into  and  seeing 
the  imaginary  past,  while  the  senses  of  the 
present  are  laid  asleep,  the  vision  would  come 
to  me  on  the  grassy  mound  called  Arthur's 
Castle,  at  the  top  of  the  hill  of  Camelot.  Even 
now  that  vision  rises  before  me  with  successive 
magic  scenes,  "  apart  from  place,  withholding 
time,"  but  always  in  that  golden  prime  of 
Arthur  and  his  knights.  I  seem  to  see  the 
town  of  Camelot,  while  within  the  hall  is  the 
Round  Table,  its  seats  filling  with  knights 
come  to  the  feast  of  Pentecost,  though  Arthur 
will  not  take  his  place  till  he  hears  from  Sir 
Kay,  the  Seneschal,  that  an  adventure  is  at 
hand,  since  some  unknown  lady  or  knight  can 
be  seen  riding  down  the  road.  Scene  after 
scene  rises  before  me  of  things  done,  and 
words  spoken,  and  quests  undertaken,  in  that 
hall ;  and  not  least  that  when  the  Holy  Grail, 
covered  with  white  samite,  passed  through, 
offering  every  knight  for  once  to  partake  of 
that  mysterious  food,  and  awaking  in  him  the 
resolve  to  achieve  that  quest.     And  then, 

"  I  see  no  longer,  1  myself  am  there," 

among  the  crowd  of  ladies  and  knights  who 


Riding  down  to  Camelot  1 6 1 


gathered  to  see  the  barge  which  came  floating 
down  the  river  with  the  dead  but  beautiful 
Elaine,  the  Lady  of  Shalott,  and  hear  Sir 
Launcelot  tell  her  sad  tale.  The  river  may 
be  seen  by  the  bodily  eye,  and  in  the  light  of 
summer  day;  and  so  may  Glastonbury  and 
Avalon,  no  longer,  indeed,  an  island  on  the 
one  hand,  and  the  site  at  least  of  the  nunnery 
of  Almesbury  on  the  other.  But  now  the  vi- 
sion rises  before  me  of  the  twofold  story  of 
Malory  and  Tennyson,  of  that  parting,  solemn 
to  awfulness,  of  Arthur  and  Guenever,  when 
he  rode  out  through  the  mist,  without  looking 
back,  to  the  battle  which  he  knew  was  to  be 
his  last;  of  the  battle,  and  of  the  coming  of 
that  barge  with  the  weeping  ladies  who  bore 
away  the  dying  king  to  Avalon.  Then,  again, 
those  last  laments  of  Launcelot  over  Arthur 
and  Guenever,  and  of  Ector  over  Launcelot 
himself.  These  actions  are  very  real  to  me; 
and  yet,  as  I  speak,  I  know,  like  Prospero, 
that  they  are  melting  into  air,  into  thin  air. 

Foster.  My  sympathies  are  all  with  you, 
Squire,  but  yet  forgive  me  if  I  ask,  as  1  heard 
your  little  grandson  ask  the  other  clay  when 
you  were  telling  him  a  story,  "  Is  it  true  ?  Tell 
me  something  real."  And  I  should  be  glad  to 
think  that  the  fabric  of  your  vision  is  not  al- 
ether  base!'  id  thai  there  was  an  Arthur 

after  all.     Milton,  with  all   his  admiration   for 


1 62  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


Arthur  and  his  knights  as  heroes  of  romance, 
did  not  believe  in  his  historical  existence  ;  so 
you  will  hardly  expect  me  to  satisfy  my  doubts 
by  the  historical  arguments  with  which  Caxton 
tells  us  that  many  noble  and  divers  gentlemen 
satisfied  his  doubts,  nor  even  by  the  evidence 
which  they  called  in  of  Gawain's  skull,  Cra- 
dock's  mantle,  and  Launcelot's  sword. 

The  Squire.  Though  you  took  his  word  for 
it  that  Camelot  was  Winchester.  But  I  can  give 
you  better  authority  than  that  of  Caxton,  or 
Milton.  Here  (opening  a  drawer,  and  taking 
out  a  letter)  is  the  last  letter  which  I  received 
from  my  old  friend  Edward  Freeman.  He 
writes  :  — 

"  Guest  taught  me  to  believe  in  Arthur,  and 
there  is  a  notice  of  him  which,  if  not  history, 
is  at  best  very  early  legend,  in  the  Life  of 
Gildas.  It  proves  a  good  bit,  anyhow.  Then 
Rhys  seemed  to  disbelieve  in  him,  and  now  he 
seems  to  have  taken  to  him  again.  I  tell  Rhys 
that  I  live  much  too  near  to  Avalon,  which  is 
Glastonbury,  to  give  him  up  altogether,  and 
that  I  can't  part  with  him  to  them  of  Strath- 
clyde." 

Foster.     Gildas  does  not  mention  Arthur. 

The  Squire.  No  ;  but  what  I  understood 
Freeman  to  mean  is  this  ;  Agreeing  with  Green 
in  acknowledging  the  great  authority  of  Guest 
as  to  the  history  of  this  period,  he  takes  the 


Riding  down  to  Camelot  1 63 

tune  of  comparative  peace  and  prosperity  which 
Gildas  describes  to  have  been  that  of  the 
reign  of  Arthur  between  520  and  542.  The 
resistance  which  Arthur  more  or  less  success- 
fully maintained  during  his  life  was  renewed 
after  the  battle  of  Deorham  in  577,  and  not 
finally  overcome  by  the  Saxons  till  the  battle 
of  Penna  in  658.  And  it  is  reasonable  to  sup- 
pose this  long  resistance  was  in  part  made 
possible  by  the  support  of  the  line  of  fortresses 
of  which  Camelot  was  the  chief  and  centre. 

You  will  find  the  still  later  conclusions  of 
Professor  Rhys  in  his  learned  volume  "The 
Arthurian  Legend  "  and  his  Preface  to  Messrs. 
Dents'  Edition  of  "  Le  Morte  Darthur." 

But  it  is  a  very  slight  and  dim  existence  at 
best.  You  just  now  compared  the  story  of 
Arthur  to  that  of  Agamemnon  ;  and  I  might 
add  that  Camelot  is  to  Malory's  "  Morte  Dar- 
thur "  what  Dr.  Schliemann's  Troy  is  to  the 
Iliad. 

Foster.  Why  then  did  you  say  they  were 
melting  into  thin  air? 

The  Squire.  1  cannot  say  so,  after  all. 
Those  knights  and  ladies  do  live  to  me,  as  I 
trust  thai  they  will  live  to  many  an  English- 
speaking  boy  and  girl  yet  unborn.  But  I  will 
answer  your  question  in  the  besl  Dryasdust 
l.t  ihion  that  I  can.  I  do  not  attempt  to  follow 
up  the  old  legends  to  those  pre-Christian  and 


164  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

—    -  -  -     _  -  .  ^ 

even  prehistoric  sources  of  which  some  learned 
writers  believe  that  they  can  get  occasional 
glimpses.  I  am  content  to  believe  that  in 
the  ages  in  which  war  was  more  to  men  than 
peace,  and  imagination  more  than  cool  reason, 
the  legends  somehow  grew  up.  The  British 
bards  termed  the  actual  losses  of  their  country- 
men glorious  gain  and  triumphs  of  poetry ;  and 
when  they  were  driven  back  into  Cornwall  and 
"Wales  and  Scotland,  they  found  everywhere 
new  Camelots  and  Round  Tables  at  Tintagel, 
Caerleon,  and  Carlisle,  and  across  the  sea  in 
Brittany.  Mr.  Symonds  tells  us  that  in  the 
Middle  Ages  the  legends  of  Arthur  were 
greater  favorites  with  the  educated  classes  in 
Italy  than  the  earlier  ones  of  Charlemagne, 
which  were  left  to  the  common  people.  And 
it  is  a  curious  fact  that  Gervase  of  Tilbury, 
writing  early  in  the  thirteenth  century,  gives 
a  story  of  the  discovery  in  the  woods  of  Mount 
Etna,  in  Sicily,  of  King  Arthur,  there  biding 
his  time  in  solemn  seclusion,  which  exactly 
corresponds  with  the  like  story  which  has  been 
told  of  the  Somersetshire  Camelot  by  a  peas- 
ant girl  to  a  lady,  now  living.  The  minstrel, 
or  troubadour,  wandered  far ;  and  he  carried 
everywhere  with  him  not  only  the  name,  but 
the  local  habitation  of  his  hero. 

Foster.     Were   not   the    Chivalry   romances 
chiefly  French  ? 


Riding  down  to  Camelot  165 

The  Squire.  If  you  except  the  greatest  of 
all,  that  of  Sir  Thomas  Malory,  perhaps  they 
were.  He  says  there  were  in  Welsh  many,  and 
in  French  many ;  and  he  also  makes  use  of 
old  English  romances.  But  the  Curate  found 
in  Don  Quixote's  library  a  pretty  good  number 
of  Spanish  romances.  And  you  must  remem- 
ber that  French  was  the  language  of  the 
English  Norman  lords  and  ladies,  and  that 
England  was  first  of  the  lands  of  chivalry, 
whatever  was  its  chief  language. 

Foster.  I  think  Southey  says,  in  the  preface 
either  to  his  "  Amadis  "  or  "  Palmerin,"  that  the 
Spanish  and  Portuguese  romances  bear  evi- 
dence, in  their  references  to  England,  that 
this  was  so. 

The  Squire.  I  like  to  see  significance  in  the 
fact,  pointed  out  by  Frederick  Maurice,  that 
the  man  whom  the  Germans,  the  French,  the 
Italians,  and  the  Spaniards  honored  as  ritter, 
chevalier,  cavaliere,  caballero,  the  rider  of  the 
war  horse,  was  to  the  English  the  knight,  the 
knecht,  the  servant  of  all  men. 

/  >ster.  Is  not  Amadis  of  Gaul  the  most 
perfect  embodiment  of  the  ideal  of  knight- 
hood ?  He  pure  as  Perceval  or  even 
Galahad,  without  their  monk-like  asceticism; 
and  as  true  and  ardent  a  lover  as  Launcelot, 
without  his  guilty  ''honor  rooted  in  dishonor," 
as  Tennyson  calls  it. 


1 66  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

The  Squire.  The  loves  of  Amadis  and 
Oriana  are,  indeed,  charming.  There  is  no- 
thing in  Malory  like  that  description  of  them 
in  Southey's  translation  :  — 

"Oriana  was  about  ten  years  old,  the  fairest 
creature  that  ever  was  seen  ;  therefore  she  was 
called  the  one  'without  a  peer.'  The  Child  of 
the  Sea  (that  is,  Amadis)  was  now  twelve  years 
old,  but  in  stature  and  size  he  seemed  fifteen, 
and  he  served  the  queen  ;  but  now  that  Oriana 
was  there,  the  queen  gave  her  the  Child  of 
the  Sea,  that  he  should  serve  her,  and  Oriana 
said  '  that  it  pleased  her ; '  and  that  word 
which  she  said,  the  Child  kept  in  his  heart, 
so  that  he  never  lost  it  from  his  memory, 
and  in  all  his  life  he  was  never  weary  of 
serving  her,  and  his  heart  was  surrendered  to 
her ;  and  this  love  lasted  as  long  as  they 
lasted,  for  as  well  as  he  loved  her  did  she  also 
love  him.  But  the  Child  of  the  Sea,  who 
knew  nothing  of  her  love,  thought  himself 
presumptuous  to  have  placed  his  thoughts  on 
her,  and  dared  not  speak  to  her ;  and  she, 
who  loved  him  in  her  heart,  was  careful  not  to 
speak  more  with  him  than  with  another ;  but 
their  eyes  delighted  to  reveal  to  the  heart  what 
was  the  thing  on  earth  that  they  loved  best, 
and  now  the  time  came  that  he  thought  he 
could  take  arms  if  he  were  knighted  ;  and  this 
he  greatly  desired,  thinking  that  he  would  do 


Riding  down  to  Camelot  167 

such    things    that,    if    he    lived,    his   mistress 
should  esteem  him." 

I  often  feel  the  force  of  the  arguments  of 
the  worthy  Ascham  against  the  tales  of  chiv- 
alry, and  wish  that  Malory  had  made  Amadis, 
and  not  Launcelot,  his  principal  hero.  But 
then  I  recur  to  what  Caxton  had  written  long 
before,  as  if  in  anticipation  of  the  charge,  and 
how  Tennyson  has  brought  out,  in  full  life  and 
proportion  as  well  as  with  the  lineaments  of 
the  noblest  poetry,  this  contrast  between  good 
and  evil,  and  triumph  of  good  over  evil,  which 
Caxton  eulogizes  in  Malory's  story. 

Foster.  Milton,  too,  while  he  expresses  a 
pious  and  thankful  wonder  that  his  youthful 
footsteps  should  have  been  directed  in  the 
paths  of  chastity  by  the  tales  of  chivalry, 
among  which  Malory's  "  Morte  Darthur "  no 
doubt  found  a  chief  place,  seems  to  recognize 
that  the  moral  effect  on  his  young  mind  had 
been  good,  and  not  evil. 

The  Squire.  The  growth  and  progress  of 
moral  life  are  as  marked  and  worthy  of  notice 
in  our  tales  of  chivalry  as  in  any  other  form 
of  our  civilization.  And  it  was  our  happy  lot 
that,  just  at  the  right  time,  a  William  Caxton 
was  ready  to  print  and  publish  the  great  na- 
tional epic  which  he  had  found  and  encoura 
a  Sir  Thomas  Malory  to  write.  Like  the 
Iliad,   it    is    partly  of   that  lofty   and    serious 


1 68  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

kind  in  which  the  imagination  can  believe  and 
find  enjoyment.  A  little  later,  the  old  tales  of 
chivalry  could  only  have  supplied  the  material 
for  a  moral  allegory  like  that  of  the  "  Faerie 
Queene,"  or  a  genial  burlesque  like  that  of 
"Don  Quixote,"  or  a  hard,  cynical,  political 
satire  like  that  of  "  Hudibras." 

Foster.  You  have  said  nothing  of  Tenny- 
son's revival,  may  I  say,  of  the  old  faith  in  the 
old  poems.  It  is  true,  they  are  idyls,  little 
pictures,  and  you  call  Sir  Thomas  Malory's 
romance  an  epic.  Do  you  hold  to  that  eulo- 
gistic designation  of  Malory's  "Morte  Darthur," 
in  face  of  the  half-patronizing,  half-contemp- 
tuous language  in  which  the  Caxtons  of  the 
present  day  have  described  the  very  book  on 
which  they  have  just  lavished  all  the  learning, 
labor,  and  cost  of  many  years,  —  a  work  which 
very  few  will  care  for  or  appreciate  at  its 
proper  value,  though  many  may  enjoy  the 
popular  fruits  of  it  all  ? 

The  Squire.  So  it  is,  and  must  be.  I  have 
the  sincerest  respect  for  a  learning,  industry, 
and  generous  self-devotion  to  the  cause  of 
letters  such  as  I  can  make  little  pretension  to. 
But  while  I  know  enough  of  these  things  to 
appreciate  what  these  scholars  have  done  for 
us,  I  see  no  proofs  that  I  ought  to  submit 
myself  to  their  authority  on  a  question  on 
which  it  contradicts  my  own  literary  judgment. 


Riding  down  to  Camelot  169 

Look  at  this  book  of  Malory's,  "  Morte  Dar- 
thur,"  as  it  actually  is,  and  not  as  the  critics 
say  it  ought  to  have  been,  if  he  had  properly 
followed  his  sources.  You  will  find  on  every 
page  the  marks  of  a  work  of  true  though  early 
and  somewhat  rude  art;  and  then,  if  you  will 
look  again  with  your  own  eyes,  and  not  with 
those  of  the  critics,  you  will  see  that  his  art 
is  all  his  own,  and  not  to  be  found  in  the  older 
legends  which  he  has  used  as  materials.  I  do 
not  know  whether  Malory  had  acquaintance 
with  any  of  what  have  been  called  the  master- 
pieces of  antiquity,  nor  whether  he  was  con- 
scious at  all  that  he  was  himself  creating  one 
of  such  masterpieces.  But  his  work  itself  lies 
before  us.  He  has  taken  the  legends  of  an 
old  national  hero  and  fashioned  them  into  a 
work  of  art,  with  the  main  characteristic 
features  of  the  epic,  or  the  drama,  of  all  ages 
and  countries.  It  is  what  Carlyle  would  have 
called  the  perennial  battle  between  God  and 
the  devil,  —  the  contest  between  man's  free 
will  and  his  circumstances;  the  Nemesis  which 
nds  his  way  during  that  contest,  and  his 
triumph  by  help  of  a  higher  power  than  his 
own.  Aios  8'ctcAcuto  (3ovky.  Arthur  is  born 
into  a  world  of  anarchy,  for  which  the  law- 
i  of  hi  -  father  is  more  or  less  responsi- 
ble j  Merlin  watches  over  him,  and,  by  help  of 
his  counsels,  Arthur,  on  reaching  manhood,  is 


170  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


able  to  establish  and  consolidate  his  kingdom, 
and  even  to  extend  it  over  that  of  the  Emperor 
of  Rome  ;  and  the  Round  Table  at  which  he 
sat  as  the  centre  and  head  of  his  knights  was 
the  sign  and  token  of  this  world  under  king- 
ship. But  there  was  a  canker  at  the  root  of 
all  this  glory.  After  many  years  of  prosperity 
and  of  great  deeds,  both  good  and  evil,  the 
coming  of  the  Holy  Grail  brought  a  test  which 
could  not  be  escaped  ;  the  fellowship  of  the 
Round  Table  was  broken  up,  and  Mordred, 
the  child  of  the  guilty  loves  of  Arthur  and 
Morgan  le  Fay  long  years  before,  became  the 
instrument  of  divine  judgment  and  retribution. 
Thus  the  personages  of  the  story,  through 
whose  action  its  several  threads  are  woven  or 
unwound,  are  as  artistically  varied  and  dis- 
tinguished as  are  the  events.  Both  these 
points  of  the  story  and  the  characters  are  dis- 
cussed at  some  length  in  the  Introduction  to 
the  Globe  Edition  of  "  Morte  Darthur,"  to 
which  I  may  refer  you,  if  you  care  for  more. 
Only  for  the  humor  of  it,  do  read  me  the 
account  of  the  Bishop  of  Canterbury's  excom- 
munication of  Mordred.  You  will  find  a  mark 
at  the  page. 

Foster.  "  And  then  came  the  Bishop  of 
Canterbury,  the  which  was  a  noble  clerk  and 
an  holy  man,  and  thus  he  said  to  Sir  Mordred : 
Sir,  what  will  ye  do,  will  ye  first  displease  God, 


Ruling  down  to  Camelot  1 7 1 

and  sithen  shame  yourself  and  all  knighthood  ? 
Is  not  King  Arthur  your  Uncle,  no  further  but 
your  mother's  brother,  and  are  not  ye  his  son, 
therefore  how  may  ye  wed  your  father's  wife  ? 
Sir,  saith  the  noble  clerk,  leave  this  opinion, 
or  else  I  shall  curse  you  with  book,  and  bell, 
and  candle.  Do  thy  worst,  said  Sir  Mordred, 
wit  thou  well  I  shall  defy  thee.  Sir,  said  the 
Bishop,  and  wit  you  well  I  shall  not  fear  me 
to  do  that  me  ought  to  do.  Also  where  ye 
noise  where  my  lord  Arthur  is  slain,  and  that 
is  not  so,  and  therefore  ye  will  make  a  foul 
work  in  this  land.  Peace,  thou  false  priest, 
said  Sir  Mordred,  for  and  thou  chafe  me  any 
more,  I  shall  strike  off  thy  head.  So  the 
Bishop  departed,  and  did  the  curseing  in  the 
most  orgulous  wise  that  might  be  done.  And 
then  Sir  Mordred  sought  the  Bishop  of  Canter- 
bury for  to  have  slain  him.  Then  the  Bishop 
fled,  and  took  part  of  his  goods  with  him,  and 
went  nigh  unto  Glastonbury,  and  there  he  was 
as  priest  hermit  in  a  chapel,  and  lived  in 
poverty  and  in  holy  prayers :  for  well  he 
understood  that  mischievous  war  was  at  hand." 
The  Squire.  That  touch  of  the  bishop  es- 
caping into  a  humble  and  quiet  hermitage,  but 
prudently  taking  some  of  his  goods  with  him, 
after  he  had  done  the  cursing  in  the  most 
orgulous  manner,  always  strikes  me  as  very 
happy.      Sir  Thomas   Malory  was  B  humorist; 


172  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

but  his  pathos  is  greater  than  his  humor.  Let 
us  hear  those  last  words  of  Sir  Launcelot  and 
Sir  Ector.     One  can  never  be  weary  of  them. 

Foster  (reads).  "  Truly,  said  Sir  Launcelot, 
I  trust  I  do  not  displease  God,  for  He  knoweth 
mine  intent,  for  my  sorrow  was  not,  nor  is  not, 
for  any  rejoicing  of  sin,  but  my  sorrow  may 
never  have  end.  For  when  I  remember  of  her 
beauty  and  of  her  noblesse,  that  was  both  with 
her  King  and  with  her ;  so  when  I  saw  his 
corpse  and  her  corpse  so  lie  together,  truly 
mine  heart  would  not  serve  to  sustain  my 
careful  body.  Also  when  I  remember  me  how, 
by  my  default,  mine  orgule,  and  my  pride,  that 
they  were  both  laid  full  low,  that  were  peerless 
that  ever  was  living  of  Christian  people,  wit 
you  well,  said  Sir  Launcelot,  this  remembered, 
of  their  kindness  and  mine  unkindness,  sank 
so  to  my  heart,  that  I  might  not  sustain  my- 
self." 

And  again  :  — 

"Ah,  Launcelot,  he  said,  thou  were  the 
head  of  all  Christian  knights ;  and  now  I  dare 
say,  said  Sir  Ector,  thou  Sir  Launcelot,  there 
thou  best,  that  thou  were  never  matched  of 
earthly  knight's  hand ;  and  thou  were  the 
courtliest  knight  that  ever  bare  shield  ;  and 
thou  were  the  truest  friend  to  thy  lover  that 
ever  bestrode  horse,  and  thou  were  the  truest 
lover  of  a  sinful  man  that  ever  loved  woman ; 


Riding  down  to  Camelot  173 

and  thou  were  kindest  man  that  ever  strake 
with  sword ;  and  thou  were  the  goodliest  per- 
son ever  came  among  press  of  knights ;  and 
thou  was  the  meekest  man  and  the  gentlest 
that  ever  ate  in  hall  among  ladies ;  and  thou 
were  the  sternest  knight  to  thy  mortal  foe  that 
ever  put  spear  in  the  rest." 

The  Squire.  Here  again  I  would  refer  you 
to  the  Globe  Introduction  for  proof  that  in 
these  and  other  instances  the  passages  are 
either  Malory's  own,  or  have  been  converted 
by  him  into  poetry  out  of  mere  prosaic  materi- 
als. In  his  twenty-first,  or  last  book,  in  which 
I  think  his  art  is  at  its  highest,  he  frequently 
alters  or  changes  the  incidents  from  those  in 
the  French  books  which  he  is  always  quoting ; 
and  in  each  case  it  seems  to  me  that  the 
variation  has  been  made  for  the  sake  of  artistic 
effect. 

Foster.  You  call  "  Morte  Darthur  "  a  poem, 
then,  and  Malory  a  poet  ? 

The  Squire.  He  has  the  poet's  eye  to  see 
into  the  life  of  things,  and  the  poet's  power  to 
endow  what  he  sees  with  outward  form  and 
color,  but  he  wanted  that  essential  qualification 
of  the  proper  poet  which  Wordsworth  calls  the 
accomplishment  of  verse. 

Foster.  Did  not  Carlyle  say  that  poetry 
would  be  better  if  it  were  written  in  prose 
instead  of  in  verse,  and  that  it  might  be  hoped 


174  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

that  the  poetry  of  the  future  would  be  so 
written  ? 

77/i?  Squire.  I  suppose  we  are  all  more 
ready  to  justify  than  to  confess  our  mental 
deficiencies ;  and  though  Carlyle  had  much 
poetic  insight,  he  had  not  the  poet's  proper 
faculty  of  expression. 

Foster.  How  would  you  define  this  poetical 
mode  of  expression?  It  is  something  more 
or  other  than  the  skillful  art  of  making  lines 
of  ten  syllables  with  or  without  rhymes  at  the 
end. 

The  Squire.  One  characteristic — I  had  al- 
most said  the  characteristic  —  of  verse,  in  the 
highest  meaning  of  the  word,  is  its  reticence. 
It  was  said  of  the  great  linguist,  Cardinal 
Mezzofanti,  that  he  could  keep  silence  in  forty 
languages  ;  and  the  poet  is  a  man  who  can 
and  does  keep  silence  in  the  midst  of  his 
wealth  of  rushing  thoughts  and  words ;  and  it 
is  in  this  accomplishment  of  verse  that  he  finds 
that  the  limitations  of  verse  make  this  silence 
both  proper  and  profitable.  His  words  must 
be  few,  while  and  because  every  one  of  them 
must  be  a  creation,  a  cosmos,  in  itself,  preg- 
nant with  life  and  meaning.  Tennyson  evi- 
dently saw  and  understood  this  in  the  formation 
of  his  style,  —  in  part  cultivated  his  poet's  art 
which  makes  his  style,  in  the  highest  sense  of 
the  word,  and  in  which  it  has  been  well  said 


*> 


Riding  down  to  Came/ot  175 

to  be  the  man  himself.  Mr.  Knowles  tells  us1 
that  he  said  "  '  Wordsworth  would  have  been 
much  finer  if  he  had  written  much  less ; '  and 
he  told  Browning  in  my  presence  that  'if  he 
had  got  rid  of  two  thirds,  the  remaining  third 
would  be  much  finer.'  After  saying  that,  and 
when  Browning  had  left  us,  he  enlarged  on  the 
imperative  necessity  of  restraint  in  art.  '  It  is 
necessary  to  respect  the  limits,'  he  said.  'An 
artist  is  one  who  recognizes  bounds  to  his  work 
as  a  necessity,  and  does  not  overflow  inimit- 
ably to  all  extent  about  a  matter.  I  soon 
found  that  if  I  meant  to  make  any  mark  at  all 
it  must  be  by  shortness,  for  all  the  men  before 
me  had  been  so  diffuse,  and  all  the  big  things 
had  been  done.  To  get  the  workmanship  as 
nearly  perfect  as  possible  is  the  best  chance 
for  going  down  the  stream  of  time.  A  small 
vessel  on  fine  lines  is  likely  to  float  further 
than  a  great  raft.'  " 

Foster.  And  so  you  contrast  these  small 
vessels,  the  "Idylls,"  with  Malory's  great  raft 
of  '•  Le  Morte  Darthur"? 

The  Squire.  Yes.  And  if  you  like  to  shift 
the  metaphor  from  the  ship  to  the  river,  you 
may  quote  Dunham  and  say:  — 

"  Oh,  could  I  flow  like  thee,  and  make  thy  stream 
I  is  inv  theme  I 
Though  deep,  yet  clear ;  though  gentle,  yet  not  dull ; 
Strong  without  rage  ;  without  o'erflowing,  lull." 

1  Nineteenth  Century  for  January,  1S93. 


176  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Each  generation  has  its  own  authorities  and 
teachers.  I  quote  Tennyson  now  ;  fifty  years 
ago  I  thought  Coleridge's  distinctions  of  poetry 
and  romance,  prose  and  verse,  the  best  pos- 
sible ;  and  indeed  I  think  you  will  still  find 
them  worth  reading. 

Foster.  I  know  them  well,  though  I  did  not 
read  them  fifty  years  ago.  Judged  by  Cole- 
ridge's standard,  is  not  Malory's  book  a  ro- 
mance rather  than  a  poem  ? 

The  Squire.  Perhaps  it  is.  I  am  not  at  all 
willing,  even  for  Malory's  sake,  to  break  down 
the  distinction  between  prose  and  verse  which 
I  think  so  real  and  so  important.  I  will  con- 
tent myself  with  saying  that  it  is  a  work  of  art, 
real  though  rude  ;  and  for  this  I  have  the 
voice  of  the  world  of  letters,  gentle  and  simple, 
on  my  side,  the  few  and  minute  critics  notwith- 
standing. Whatever  sidelights  their  learning 
may  have  supplied  to  Spenser,  Milton,  and 
Tennyson,  there  can  be  no  reasonable  doubt 
that  the  Arthur  and  his  knights  whom  they  knew 
are  the  king  and  knights  of  Malory.  The  popular 
voice  of  approval  has  never  been  silent  since 
Caxton  printed  his  first  edition  ;  and  during 
the  present  century  it  has  been  raised,  with  an 
ever-increasing  volume,  to  what  Tennyson  may 
be  said  to  have  given  a  not  inappropriate  ex- 
pression when  he  said,  "  There  is  no  grander 
subject  in  the  world  than  King  Arthur." 


Riding  down  to  Camelot  177 


Foster.  The  bibliography  of  the  book  is  curi- 
ous and  interesting,  especially  as  to  Upcott's 
very  ingenious  interpolations  to  supply  the 
missing  pages  of  the  Althorp  copy.  It  seems 
odd  that  the  truth  had  remained  undiscovered 
for  fifty  years  till  you  told  the  story  in  the  In- 
troduction to  the  Globe  Edition. 

The  Squire.  When  I  came  to  look  into  the 
history  of  the  text  for  myself,  I  was  astonished 
at  the  inaccuracy  and  slovenliness  of  the  pro- 
fessional critics,  and  their  habit  of  putting 
second-hand  guesses  in  the  place  of  verified 
facts.  But  I  venture  to  say  that  you  may 
depend  on  the  bibliography  of  the  Globe  In- 
troduction and  the  Prolegomena  of  Dr.  Som- 
mer.  The  work  of  Dr.  Sommer  is,  indeed,  a 
wonderful  monument  of  German  learning,  in- 
dustry, and  contentment  with  the  reward  of 
the  approval  and  admiration  of  the  few  schol- 
ars competent  to  judge  of  its  merits. 

Foster.  I  am  afraid  that  you  cannot  include 
the  authorities  of  the  British  Museum  among 
those  who  justly  appreciate  the  worth  of 
Malory's  book,  when  they  allowed  the  one 
perfect  copy  of  the  original  edition  to  go  to 
America. 

The  Squire.  From  what  1  have  heard,  I 
guess  that  they  outwitted  themselves  by  the 
overdone  caution  —  not  uncommon  with  buyers 
at  auctions  —  of  trying  to  make  their  purchase 


178  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

without  giving  their  bidding  agent  a  free  hand. 
I  was  very  sorry  when  I  first  heard  that  the 
precious  volume  which,  when  it  lay  in  the 
Osterly  Park  library,  had  been  seen  by  very 
few  but  myself,  was  gone  to  Brooklyn  instead 
of  to  Bloomsbury.  But  I  could  no  longer 
grudge  the  loss  when  1  remembered  that  the 
treasure  had  only  gone  to  our  brothers  —  may 
I  say  our  sister  ?  —  across  the  Atlantic,  with 
whom,  as  its  possessor,  Mrs.  Abby  E.  Pope, 
tells  me,  it  is  prized  more  than  it  was  among 
ourselves.  I  could  only  wish  that  it  may  be 
as  safe  from  risks  of  fire  and  other  damage  as 
it  would  have  been  in  the  British  Museum, 
and  that  the  present  possessor  of  the  Althorp 
copy  will  obtain  —  as  would  no  doubt  be  al- 
lowed—  a  photograph  facsimile  of  the  missing 
pages,  to  be  substituted  for  the  very  inaccurate 
though  beautifully  written  transcript  by  Whit- 
taker.  But  here  comes  tea.  Queen  Guenever 
and  her  ladies  never  poured  out  that  at  the 
Round  Table,  nor  invited  Arthur  and  his 
knights  to  "five  o'clocker." 


VIII. 

THE   ARROWHEADED    INSCRIPTIONS. 

The  dust  of  a  vanished  race. 

Tennyson. 

I  knew  that  the  Squire  took  much  interest 
in  the  Arrowheaded  Inscriptions,  so  one  morn- 
ing I  got  him  to  talk  on  the  subject. 

Foster.  Do  you  read  the  Arrowheaded  In- 
scriptions of  which  I  see  so  many  volumes? 

The  Squire.  No  ;  I  content  myself  with  en- 
joying the  fruits  of  other  men's  labors  ;  hoping, 
however,  that  I  may  occasionally  get  from 
these  learned  men  some  new  light  on  questions 
which  may  not  have  attracted  their  own  atten- 
tion. 

Foster.  Scholars  now  quote  the  records  of 
Rameses  and  Sennacherib  as  much  of  course 
ns  they  do  the  Commentaries  of  Caesar ;  but 
the  discovery  of  the  key  to  the  decipherment 
of  the  Egyptian  hieroglyphics  and  the  arrow- 
led  inscriptions  must  have  seemed  very 
wonderful  at  first,  as  indeed  it  v. 

The  Squire.  Yes.  These  keys,  like  photo- 
graphy, with  the  silver  plate  of   I  )agucrrc  fol- 


180  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


lowed  by  the  paper-printing  of  Talbot ;  the 
electric  telegraph,  with  its  development  of  the 
telephone  and  the  phonograph  ;  and  I  may 
add,  the  uses  of  steam  by  sea  and  land,  —  all 
these  are  now  every-day  things.  Yet  I  can 
recollect  something  of  the  sense  of  the  marvel- 
ous which  fell  upon  some  of  us  on  their  first 
discovery.  It  seemed  a  happiness  only  to 
have  lived  in  those  days,  to  borrow  a  phrase 
from  Wordsworth  about  the  early  days  of  the 
French  Revolution  ;  only  we,  happily,  have  not 
had  to  repent,  as  he  had  to  do. 

Foster.  The  reading  of  the  Egyptian  hiero- 
glyphics seems  comparatively  easy,  if  I  rightly 
remember  the  account  of  the  process.  Was 
it  not  that  the  French,  in  1799,  found  at 
Rosetta  a  stone  with  an  inscription  of  Ptolemy 
Euersetes  in  Greek  and  in  the  demotic  or 
common  Egyptian  writing  of  the  period,  as 
well  as  in  hieroglyphics  ?  And  then,  by  assum- 
ing that  the  vernacular  Egyptian  of  the  time 
of  the  inscription  did  not  differ  materially  from 
the  Coptic  of  the  present  day,  it  was  found 
that  Coptic  equivalents  for  the  several  words 
of  the  Greek  could  be  made  out  and  read 
in  the  demotic  version,  so  that  finally  the 
hieroglyphic  inscription  itself  could  be  read. 
But  then  Ptolemy,  like  Pharaoh,  had  told  his 
dream  to  the  wise  men,  who  had  to  interpret 
it.     Nebuchadnezzar    needed   to  be   told   his 


The  Arrowheaded  Inscriptions  1 8 1 

dream  as  well  as  the  interpretation  thereof. 
There  was  no  inscription,  in  Greek  or  any 
other  known  language,  was  there,  at  Persepo- 
lis  or  Behistun  ? 

The  Squire.  On  the  contrary :  Diodorus  said 
the  Behistun  inscription  was  by  Semiramis, 
and  Rawlinson  found  it  to  be  by  Darius.  You 
are  right  in  the  main  as  to  the  comparative 
easiness  of  the  hieroglyphic  decipherment,  I 
think,  but  in  both  cases  the  discoverers  must 
have  possessed  and  exercised  no  small  amount 
of  the  powers  of  criticism  and  divination, 
which  Niebuhr  calls  the  means  by  which  his- 
tory supplies  the  deficiencies  of  its  sources. 
But  the  decipherment  of  the  arrowheaded  in- 
scriptions was  no  doubt  by  far  the  more  diffi- 
cult ;  and  its  results  have,  in  my  opinion,  far 
surpassed  the  other  in  their  interest  and  histor- 
ical importance. 

Foster.  I  know  less  about  the  arrowheaded 
than  about  the  hieroglyphic  inscriptions,  and 
shall  be  glad  if  you  will  tell  me  something 
about  them. 

The  Squire.  The  subject  is  a  vast  one,  and 
it  continues  to  increase.  I  will  show  you  the 
few  pebbles  I  have  picked  up  on  the  shore ; 
but  if  I  exhaust  your  patience,  it  will  not  be 
by  the  knowledge  <>(  tin-  learned  Dr.  Dryasdust 
who  has  recorded  all  thai  has  been  done  or 
written  on  the  subject.      1  have  only  the  odds 


1 82  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

and  ends  which  I  have  gathered  up  through 
many  years  from  journals  of  learned  societies, 
books  of  translations,  monographs  on  fresh 
discoveries  of  lions  and  bulls  and  bricks  and 
slabs,  and  so  on  in  infinite  variety. 

Foster.  It  is  a  pleasant  way  of  getting  know- 
ledge, if  only  a  man's  memory  can  keep  all 
that  he  so  collects  ;  but 

"  Time  hath,  my  lord,  a  wallet  at  his  back 
Wherein  he  puts  alms  for  oblivion." 

The  Squire.  No ;  I  will,  like  Time,  in  this 
case  quote  the  general  at  the  siege  of  the 
impregnable  fortress  of  Bhurtpore,  when  he 
had  ordered  a  gun  up  to  a  particular  position. 
The  officer  came  back,  after  some  time,  and 
reported  that  it  was  impossible.  "  Impossible, 
sir !  Why,  I  have  the  order  in  my  pocket !  " 
So  the  gun  was  brought  up,  and  the  fort  was 
taken.  There,  at  Persepolis,  for  two  thousand 
years  had  stood  that  rock,  rising  four  hundred 
feet  above  the  plain,  with  its  scarped  face 
covered  with  writing  which  no  man  could  read, 
and  so  looking  foolishly  enough,  as  Carlyle 
said  of  the  Pyramids.  The  imaginative  in- 
habitants of  the  land,  forgetting  that  their  own 
fathers  had  written  and  read  those  words, 
believed  them  to  be  the  work  of  jins,  telling 
of  hidden  hoards  of  gold  and  jewels  never  to 
be  discovered,  while  some  wise  skeptic  from 
the  West  pronounced  them  to  be  merely  the 


The  Arrowheaded  Inscriptions  183 

work  of  worms.  But  there,  age  after  age,  still 
stood  the  old  General  Time,  with  the  order  in 
his  pocket,  waiting  for  the  hour  and  the  man. 
The  beginnings  of  the  discovery  were  humble 
and  its  progress  was  slow,  but  we  may  say  that 
the  critic  and  the  diviner  were  there  from  the 
first  with  Philology,  Archceology,  and  History 
for  their  tools  to  work  with.  Increasing  in- 
telligence and  accuracy  in  copying  the  inscrip- 
tion were  followed  by  increasing  recognition  of 
the  arrangements,  repetitions,  and  variations  of 
the  still  unknown  characters.  They  were  in 
three  columns,  of  which  there  were  in  one 
only  forty-two  of  the  little  groups  of  arrow- 
heads or  wedges,  each  of  which  groups  might 
be  assumed  to  be  a  letter ;  in  another  column 
there  were  four  hundred  of  such  groups,  which 
therefore  must  have  been  ideographic :  and 
these  characters  and  signs,  for  which  ample 
space  was  taken  at  one  end  of  the  line,  were 
crowded  together  at  the  other,  thus  showing 
that  the  writing  was  from  left  to  right.  From 
each  of  these  facts  was  derived  an  hypothesis, 
which,  when  verified,  became  the  law  of  a  new 
hypothesis,  to  be  verified  and  expanded  again 
in  like  manner.  If  these  columns  were  used 
for  a  proclamation  by  a  king  ruling  over  the 
country  in  which  they  stood  as  a  Centre,  the 
three  columns  were  probably  the  same  pro- 
clamation in  the  three  principal  languages  of 


1S4  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

the  monarchy,  like  those  which  the  Sultan  of 
Constantinople  or  the  Shah  of  Persia  still 
issues  in  Turkish,  Arabic,  and  Persian.  It 
might  be  taken  that,  being  at  Persepolis,  this 
proclamation  was  by  some  king  of  the  once 
great  Persian  Empire ;  that  the  language  of 
one  of  its  columns  would  be  the  Persian  of  the 
time :  and  that,  with  the  unchanging  customs 
and  habits  of  the  East,  the  style  of  his  pro- 
clamation would  most  likely  be  the  same  as 
that  used  by  the  Sassanian  dynasty  which 
reigned  in  Persia  till  the  Muhammedan  con- 
quest. The  languages  of  the  columns  with 
the  letters  or  signs  counted  by  hundreds  were 

e  call  ideographic,  like  tho- 
the  Chinese  or  the  Egyptians,  in  which  each 
ter  represents  a  mental  image ;  while  the 
.-  of  the  column  with  on'.;  va- 

:  -  as  p>.  etic, 

in  which  each  sign  was  ttei   [  f  an 

alphabet,  as  with  out  eps, 

trend,  in  1802,  reached  his  position  :  the 
umn   is  in   alphabetical  writing, 
-  ;    t  tc   be  a  proclamation  in 
-;ning  with  the  na- 
king  w; 

and  the  - 

- 
-    -  - 


The  A  rrou  'headed  Inscriptions  i  S  5 

repeated  twice,  the  third  being  the  same  as 
the  second,  with  an  additional  letter  or  letters. 
—  I  cannot  put  my  hand  on  Grotefend's  paper, 
but  I  understand  his  reasoning  to  be  some- 
thins  of  this  kind  :  Call  the  three  first-men- 
tioned  words  A,  B.  and  C.  and  the  sentence 
will  run  thus  :  A.  king  of  kings,  son  of  B.  king 
of  kings,  son  of  C.  The  word  read  as  hi'. 
repeated  with  an  addition  which  indicates  the 
genitive  plural,  while  the  other  repeated  word 
stands  for  son.  But  C  is  not  called  "  king  of 
kings,''  like  the  other  two.  Then  the  three 
names  are  Xerxes,  Darius,  and  Hystaspes ; 
for  the  last,  though  father  of  Darius,  was  not 
a  king.  But  to  say  that  certain  words  meant 
or  king  was  not  to  read  the  words  them- 
selves, or  to  say  to  what  language  they  be- 
longed. Now,  however,  the  Zend,  or  ancient 
Persian,  began  to  be  studied,  and  it  became 
possible  to  say  what  those  words  would  be 
if  all  the  other  assumptions  were  true.  The 
other  letters  were  hypothetically  added  to 
those  which  made  up  the  names  of  the  three 
kings.  If  Zend  were  the  language  in  which 
the  inscription  was  written,  the  words  for 
and  king  of  kings  would  be  putra  and  ksA 
third,  and  more  letters  of  the  alphabet  would 
be  added  to  those  in  the  three  king-/  names. 
So  the  inscription  w.is  gradually  read,  found 
to    agree   with    the    story    of    Herodotus,   and 


1 86  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

took  its  place  among  the  records  of  ancient 
Persia. 

Foster.  And  so  a  key  was  found,  like  that 
of  the  Greek  version  on  the  Rosetta  stone,  for 
reading  the  other  Persepolis  inscriptions,  one 
of  which  was,  I  suppose,  Assyrian  ? 

The  Squire.  The  actual  course  of  things 
was  somewhat  different.  Colonel  (afterwards 
Sir  Henry)  Rawlinson,  containing  in  himself, 
in  no  common  degree  and  in  very  various 
kinds,  the  qualifications  of  a  man  of  action 
and  of  letters,  had  become  so  familiar  with 
arrowheaded  writing,  which  he  had  studied  at 
Persepolis,  that  it  seems  as  if  it  had  been  a 
sort  of  mother  tongue  to  him,  when  he  says 
that  he  cannot  remember  and  trace  back  the 
steps  by  which  he  arrived  at  his  knowledge. 
On  visiting  Behistun,  he  was  able  to  read  the 
Persian  column  of  the  trilingual  inscription 
there  found,  and  to  tell  the  world  that  it  was 
a  proclamation,  not  of  Semiramis,  as  Diodorus 
had  supposed,  but  of  Darius.  A  copy  of  the 
text  with  a  translation  was  sent  to  England 
by  Rawlinson,  and  published  in  the  Journal 
of  the  Asiatic  Society  in  1847.  To  employ 
this  deciphered  inscription  for  the  purpose  of 
reading  the  other  inscriptions  side  by  side 
with  it  might  have  been  interesting  to  Rawlin- 
son in  any  case,  but  a  new  motive  for  such 
work  had  arisen.     Botta  in  1847,  and  Layard 


The  Arrowheaded  Inscriptions  187 


in  1845,  nac*  discovered,  by  actual  excavation, 
the  vast  remains  of  the  palaces  of  Nineveh 
and  other  cities  of  Assyria,  the  existence  of 
which,  under  great  earth  mounds,  had  been 
conjectured  by  King  in  18 18.  These  excava- 
tions were  the  beginning  of  a  work  which  is 
still  going  on  ;  of  the  discovery  not  only  of 
the  remains  of  magnificent  buildings,  but  of 
an  almost  infinite  variety  of  written  records 
in  the  arrowheaded  characters.  There  were 
not  only  monumental  inscriptions  on  colossal 
bulls  and  lions,  and  on  alabaster  slabs  which 
had  lined  the  walls  of  the  palaces,  but  also  on 
clay  tablets  of  every  size,  which  had  been 
baked  after  the  arrowheads  had  been  im- 
pressed on  them,  and  which  tablets  were 
eventually  (as  I  will  explain  directly)  found 
to  be  books  of  all  sorts.  The  characters  in 
which  all  these  were  written  were  recognized 
as  those  of  one  of  the  trilingual  inscriptions 
of  Persepolis  and  Behistun  ;  the  genius  which 
had  read  the  Persian  inscription  of  Behistun 
must  have  found  it  comparatively  easy  to  read 
the  Assyrian  column,  while  employing  Hebrew, 
just  as  Zend  had  been  employed  in  the  pre- 
vious case,  at  each  step  of  hypothesis  and 
verification.  And  in  [85a  Rawlinson  was  able 
\<>  send  home  from  Nineveh  the  Assyrian 
annals  of  Sargon  and  Sennacherib  themselves, 
whom  we  had  till  then  known  of  only  from  the 


1 88  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Hebrew  history,  and  the  still  scantier  Greek 
records.  There  were  at  first  many  failures 
and  hitches,  and  learned  men  looked  more  or 
less  doubtfully  on  the  popular  enthusiasm  at  a 
discovery  which  came  home  to  every  one  who 
had  read  the  Bible.  Some  years  later  a  chal- 
lenge was  given,  and  accepted  by  Rawlinson, 
Hincks,  Talbot,  and  Oppert,  to  translate  in- 
dependently of  one  another  an  inscription  of 
which  the  untranslated  original  had  been  pub- 
lished by  the  British  Museum ;  and  to  submit 
this  to  the  judgment  of  Sir  George  Cornwall 
Lewis,  Dean  Milman,  and  Mr.  Grote.  The 
versions  substantially  agreed,  except  as  to  the 
proper  names  ;  but,  if  I  remember  rightly,  Sir 
George  Lewis  remained  incredulous,  and  Mr. 
Grote  not  quite  satisfied.  The  key  to  the 
special  mystery  of  these  and  other  proper 
names  was  eventually  found ;  and  I  suppose 
that  no  one  now  has  doubts  that  those  who 
are  at  the  trouble  may  learn  to  read  Assyrian 
as  they  do  Greek  or  Sanskrit. 

Foster.  A  library  of  brickbats  for  books 
sounds  funny.  It  must  have  required  some 
courage  to  begin  reading  in  it. 

The  Squire.  Yes ;  and  especially  when  the 
books  lay  in  heaps  by  the  thousand,  having, 
as  Mr.  George  Smith  conjectured,  fallen  with 
the  ruins  of  the  building,  from  an  upper  floor. 

Foster.   You  alluded  to  other  special  difficul- 


The  Arrowheaded  Inscriptions  189 

ties  in  the  way  of  decipherment ;    what  were 
they? 

The  Squire.  If  I  have  rightly  read  the 
earlier  work  in  the  fuller  light  of  the  later 
knowledge,  the  story  is  something  of  this 
kind :  The  Assyrians  were  in  the  main  a  Sem- 
itic people  ;  their  language,  like  their  race,  was 
allied  to  that  of  the  Hebrews,  and  their  writ- 
ing, like  the  Hebrew,  was  alphabetical.  But 
the  older  civilization  of  Babylon,  from  which 
Assyria  derived  much  of  its  own,  was  Tu- 
ranian, and  its  method  of  writing  was  not 
alphabetic,  but  ideographic,  like  that  of  the 
Chinese  and  several  other  peoples.  The  As- 
syrians, very  oddly,  as  it  seems  to  us,  com- 
bined the  two  methods,  using  dictionaries  for 
the  purpose,  some  of  which  have  been  actually 
found  in  what  you  call  the  library  of  brickbats. 

Foster.    Can  you  give  me  an  example? 

The  Squire.  Here  is  one  which  I  took  many 
years  ago.  The  Roman  letter  and  numeral  X 
is  for  many  purposes  an  English  ideograph,  or 
character,  used  to  express,  in  writing,  not  a 
re  sound,  but  a  mental  image.  In  a  date 
we  read  it  ten;  after  a  king's  name,  the  tenth  ; 
between  two  figures,  as  3x3,  we  read  it  in- 
differently as  times,  into,  <>r  multiplied  by;  the 
mathematician  uses  it  as  <in  unknown  quantity; 
and  the  stockbroker  reads  Xdiv.  as  without 
the  dividend.     No  one  hesitates  to  read  Xway 


190  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

as  crossway ;  and  though  X  only  represents  a 
syllable  in  Xmas,  Xtian,  and  like  words,  here, 
too,  it  may  be  called  an  ideograph.  But  now 
suppose  that,  in  addition  to  all  these  uses  of 
X  in  writing,  we  employed  it  also  to  express 
the  sound  of  ten  without  attaching  any  mental 
image  to  it,  and  in  any  word  in  which  that 
sound  occurred  as  one  of  its  joints,  as  in 
tenant,  tender,  tent,  we  indifferently  wrote  the 
full  word  in  alphabetic  letters,  or  substituted 
X  for  t-e-n,  and  so  with  Xant,  Xder,  Xt.  Im- 
agine this  double  method  of  expressing  what 
I  call  a  joint,  or  joints,  in  a  word  employed 
habitually,  and  with  every  variety  of  ideo- 
graphic sign  drawn  from  the  Babylonian  ideo- 
graphic writing,  and  you  have  the  usual  As- 
syrian method  of  writing.  This  may  serve  as 
an  illustration,  though  it  is  of  course  only  a 
small  and  fragmentary  one,  of  what  was  a  very 
complicated  business,  though  no  doubt  it  was 
easy  to  those  accustomed  to  it.  But,  as  I  have 
said,  they  used  dictionaries  or  lists  of  ideo- 
graphic characters  with  their  equivalents  in 
Assyrian  letters. 

Foster.  Was  it  from  these  dictionaries  that 
the  way  to  read  the  strange  forms  embodied  in 
half-spelt  words  was  found  out  ? 

The  Squire.  No.  I  think  the  first  discovery 
was  by  help  of  one  of  those  happy  accidents 
which  come  to  men  of  genius,  and  which  they 


The  Arrowheaded  Inscriptions  igi 


know  how  to  seize  and  make  their  own.  An 
inscription  was  found  in  duplicate.  In  one 
copy  Rawlinson  came  to  a  word  which,  if  read 
phonetically  and  as  if  the  language  were  He- 
brew, gave  good  sense ;  in  the  other  copy,  this 
word  was  expressed  by  one  which,  if  so  read, 
would  give  no  sense,  and  was  in  fact  no  word. 
This,  then,  was  the  ideographic  equivalent  of 
the  real  word.  The  clue  was  followed,  and 
the  labvrinth  was  traversed  in  and  out.  If  you 
would  explore  the  matter  farther,  you  must 
put  yourself  under  the  guidance  of  Rawlinson, 
Schrader,  Sayce,  and  George  Smith;  and  in- 
deed I  might  easily  add  other  names. 

Foster.  It  is  curious  that  while  the  Hebrews 
were  using  leather  and  the  Egyptians  papyrus 
to  write  on,  the  Assyrians  should  have  used 
clay. 

The  Squire.  It  is  fortunate  that  they  did  so. 
They  did,  however,  also  use  some  perishable 
material,  no  doubt  leather;  for  seals  have  been 
found  with  the  holes  for  the  strings  which 
fastened  them  to  the  scrolls,  and  even  the 
remains  of  the  strings  themselves.  These  seals 
are  of  clay,  often  with  two  impressions,  one  of 
which  has  Phoenician  characters,  showing  them 
to  belong  to  contracts  between  two  parties. 
Some  of  these  deeds  of  sale  between  I'lio- 
ni<  i  hi  and  Assyrian  traders  have  also  been 
found,  and   have   helped   tO   throw  light  on  the 


192  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

question  of  language.  But  the  most  interest- 
ing of  all  the  seals  is  one  which  bears  the 
Egyptian  hieroglyphics  which  had  been  already 
read  by  Egyptologists  as  the  name  Sabaco  II., 
king  of  Egypt,  and  also  an  Assyrian  device  of 
a  priest  ministering  before  the  king,  which  is 
reasonably  supposed  to  be  the  royal  signet  of 
Sennacherib,  the  contemporary  of  Sabaco.  It 
is  manifestly  the  seal  of  a  treaty  between  these 
two  monarchs  whom  we  know  to  have  met  in 
battle  not  many  miles  from  Jerusalem. 

Foster.  Has  the  discovery  of  Egyptian  and 
Assyrian  records  given  much  help  in  the  study 
of  Hebrew  history  and  literature  ? 

The  Squire.  A  good  many  facts,  more  or 
less  important,  and  much  general  light,  in 
which  the  old  facts  may  be  seen  more  plainly 
than  before.  A  second  history,  especially  if 
it  be  a  contemporary  history,  always  gives  a 
greater  sense  of  reality  to  the  first  one.  One 
of  the  uses  of  two  eyes  is  that  each  eye  sees 
a  little  more  of  one  side  of  the  object  than 
does  the  other ;  and  thus  the  object  is  seen  to 
be,  what  it  is,  a  solid,  and  not  a  flat  object.  A 
photograph  represents  an  object  as  seen  with 
one  eye ;  and  when  two  such  photographs  are 
brought  together  into  one  picture  by  the 
stereoscope,  we  immediately  perceive  an  effect 
of  roundness  instead  of  flatness.  We  may  and 
do  know  that  an  object  is  solid,  though  we 


The  Arrowheaded  Inscriptions  193 

look  at  it  with  only  one  eye,  but  we  only  see 
it  to  be  so  when  we  look  at  it  with  both. 
Critics  with  the  historical  imagination  of  Gro- 
tius  and  Gesenius  could  infer  and  make  out 
from  the  discourses  of  Isaiah  the  military  and 
political  position  of  Jerusalem  when  its  little 
territory  was  becoming  the  battlefield  on  which 
the  rival  monarchies  of  Egypt  and  Assyria  met 
to  fight  for  empire.  But  the  picture  is  made 
still  more  lifelike  when,  alongside  of  the  actual 
speeches  by  which  Isaiah  sustained  and  di- 
rected the  energies  of  his  king  and  countrymen 
in  the  supreme  hour,  are  read  the  annals  in 
which  Sennacherib  tells  what  he  and  his  army 
were  doing  at  the  same  time,  within  the  sight 
of  the  men  who,  from  the  walls  of  the  city, 
could  see  the  valleys  and  plain  full  of  Assyrian 
horsemen. 

Foster.  And  besides  these  military  and  polit- 
ical annals,  are  there  not  some  considerable 
remains  of  literature  of  the  kind  which  reflects 
the  general  moral  and  intellectual  culture  of  a 
nation  ? 

The  Squire.  Yes,  and  these,  too,  throw  much 
light  on  the  history  and  literature  of  the  Jews, 
v  that  we  know  that  the  people  of  Israel, 
at  the  period  to  which  they  carried  back  the 
life  of  their  national  ancestor  Abraham,  were 
in  the  midst  of  nations  which  had  not  only 
reached  a  high  degree  of  civilization,  but  knew 


194  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

how  to  record  that  civilization  in  writing,  we 
should  be  wholly  unreasonable  if  we  doubted 
the  claim  of  the  Jews  to  the  possession  of 
equally  early  written  records.  The  old  or- 
thodox belief  that  Moses  was  miraculously 
enabled  to  write  the  Pentateuch,  and  the 
preposterous  modern  adaptation  of  the  old 
rabbinical  legend  that  it  was  the  work  of  Ezra 
after  his  return  from  the  exile,  are  equally 
unnecessary. 

Foster.  Are  you  not  rather  unfair  to  these 
modern  critics  ?  I  recollect  a  J  and  E  as  well 
as  a  P  C  in  the  list  of  what  I  suppose  you 
would  call  their  imaginary  documents.  And 
then,  is  not  "  preposterous "  rather  a  strong, 
or,  as  Jeremy  Bentham  would  have  said,  "  dys- 
logistic "  word  ? 

The  Squire.  When  Burke  was  called  to 
order  for  using  the  word  "preposterous"  in 
one  of  his  speeches  in  the  Warren  Hastings 
trial,  he  justified  himself  by  observing  that  the 
word  only  meant  putting  the  cart  before  the 
horse.  I  cannot  but  think  that  this  is  a  com- 
mon habit  of  mind  in  our  modern  Biblical 
critics  ;  though  I  respect  the  wonderful  minute- 
ness and  industry  of  their  learning,  and  have 
no  doubt  that  it  often  throws  new  light  on  the 
subject  they  treat  of. 

Foster.  Then  you  do  not  accept  as  con- 
clusive the  decision  of  Professor  Wellhausen 


The  Arrow  headed  Inscriptions  igg 

that  the  Old  Testament,  as  we  have  it,  was 
edited  and  published  in  the  year  444  b.  c.  ? 

The  Squire.  I  know  that  a  German  professor 
is,  like  the  prophet  Habakkuk  in  the  opinion 
of  Voltaire,  and  the  father  of  a  family  accord- 
ing to  Napoleon,  "capable  de  tout."  Yet  I 
have  looked  at  that  date  again  and  again, 
and  wondered  how  any  one  could  believe  it 
possible  to  evolve  out  of  his  inner  conscious- 
ness the  exact  year,  more  than  twenty-three 
centuries  ago,  of  an  event  of  which  there  is 
no  record  that  it  happened  at  all ;  and  why 
that  odd  number  of  4,  or  even  44,  when  deal- 
ing with  so  many  hundreds,  and  even  thou- 
sands ?  I  can  only  compare  this  conscientious 
accuracy  to  that  of  the  man  who  refused  to 
imperil  his  immortal  soul  by  saying  that  he 
had  killed  the  round  number  of  an  hundred 
canvas-back  ducks  when  in  fact  it  was  only 
ninety-nine. 

Foster.  But,  Squire,  you  just  now  quoted 
with  approval  Niebuhr's  two  qualifications  for 
the  historian, — criticism  and  divination.  Will 
you  not  allow  his  countrymen  and  (heir  Eng- 
lish followers  the  use  of  these  things  in  the 
study  of  I  l.ln'iv.  literature  ? 

T/tr  Squire.  If  they  only  would  use  them 
more  than  they  do  !  The  true  critic  is  a  judge. 
Ili^  business  is  to  bring  all  (lie  ascertainable 
facts  of   the  case   into   clear  light  and  order, 


196  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

and  then  either  to  pronounce  a  judgment,  or 
to  declare  that  no  judgment  is  possible  for 
want  of  sufficient  evidence.  He  is  not,  in  the 
latter  case,  to  make  up  the  deficiency  by 
fancies  drawn  from  his  inner  consciousness  to 
supply  the  lack  of  facts. 

Foster.     Is  not  this  the  divination  of   Nie- 
buhr? 

The  Squire.  No,  no.  I  believe  Niebuhr 
himself  may  have  sometimes  mistaken  the  one 
for  the  other,  but  they  are  not  the  same  thing. 
Divination  in  history  is  seeing  into  the  life  of 
things,  not  the  dissection  of  a  dead  body  and 
the  labeling  of  the  several  parts.  But  there  is 
another  saying  of  Niebuhr's  which  is  more  to 
the  point.  He  says  that  when  in  Rome  you 
may  often  see  existing  walls  with  marble  frag- 
ments of  columns  and  cornices  built  into 
them  ;  and  it  is  certain  that  these  are  the 
portions  of  some  older  buildings,  temples  or 
palaces  perhaps,  but  it  is  impossible  to  say 
what  those  buildings  were.  A  like  illustration 
might  be  drawn  from  some  of  our  old  churches 
and  manor  houses ;  and  we  know  what  woeful 
work  our  own  learned  modern  architects  have 
made  of  their  so-called  restoration  of  these. 
The  churchwardens'  whitewash  has  done  far 
less  harm.  I  have  no  difficulty  in  seeing,  with 
Astruc,  the  plain  marks  in  Genesis  of  two 
records,  marked  by  the  names  of  Elohim  and 


The  Arrowheaded  Inscriptions  197 

Jehovah  respectively ;  but  I  cannot  follow 
Wellhausen  in  the  ideal  reconstruction  of  his 
so-called  prophetic  and  priestly  documents 
elaborated  out  of  the  early  books,  and  duly 
docketed  J  E  and  P  C. 

Foster.  I  see  your  shelves  full  of  the  com- 
mentators you  so  scoff  at. 

The  Squire.  I  not  only  respect,  but  profit  by 
their  learning  and  industry,  which  are  very 
great.  I  gladly  use  their  books,  though  I  do 
not  like  to  wear  their  chains.  There  are  some 
words  of  Grote  on  a  like  question  in  Greek 
literature  which  deserve  to  be  written  in  letters 
of  gold,  and  to  be  ever  before  the  eyes  of  the 
student  of  the  Old  Testament.  He  says : 
"  The  lesson  must  be  learnt,  hard  and  painful 
though  it  be,  that  no  imaginable  reach  of 
critical  acumen  will  of  itself  enable  us  to 
discriminate  fancy  from  reality  in  the  absence 
of  a  tolerable  stock  of  evidence.  ...  In  truth, 
our  means  of  knowledge  are  so  limited,  that 
no  man  can  produce  arguments  sufficiently 
cogent  to  contend  against  opposing  preconcep- 
tions, and  it  creates  a  painful  sentiment  of 
diffidence  when  we  use  expressions  of  equal 
and  absolute  persuasion  with  which  the  two 
opposite  conclusions  have  been  advanced." 

Fosti  > . 

"  Ami  art  thou  nothing?     Such  thou  art  as  when 
1  be  woodman  winding  westward  up  the  glen 


ig8  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

At  wintry  dawn,  where  o'er  the  sheep-track's  maze 
The  viewless  snow-mist  weaves  a  glist'ning  haze, 
Sees  all  before  him,  gliding  without  tread, 
An  image  with  a  glory  round  its  head. 
The  enamored  rustic  worships  its  fair  hues, 
Nor  knows  he  makes  the  shadow  he  pursues." 

It  seems  a  pity ;  is  nothing  left  for  us  but  this 
luminous  mist  ? 

The  Squire.  The  books  themselves ;  read 
the  commentaries  with  them.  You  will  not 
understand  the  books  without  their  help.  Only, 
read  the  commentaries  for  the  sake  of  the 
books,  and  not  the  books  for  the  sake  of  the 
commentaries,  as  has  been  always,  and  still  is, 
the  habit  of  too  many,  from  the  days  of  the 
Talmud,  and  before,  down  to  our  own. 

Foster.  You  remind  me  of  Bacon's  advice : 
"  Read  not  to  contradict  and  confute,  nor  to 
believe  and  take  for  granted,  nor  to  find  talk 
and  discourse,  but  to  weigh  and  consider." 

The  Squire.  You  can  have  no  better  instruc- 
tion for  the  use  of  the  commentaries.  And  for 
the  books  themselves,  the  more  you  read  them 
for  their  own  sake,  the  more  you  will  find 
worth  reading  in  them.  People  often  think  it 
clever  to  say  that  the  Bible  should  be  treated 
like  other  books.  I  wish  it  got  a  little  more 
such  treatment.  Those  who  believe  that  it 
really  differs  in  some  respects  from  other 
books  ought  to  be  the  most  convinced  that  the 
more  clearly  you  bring  out  the  resemblances, 


The  Arroivheaded  biscriptions  199 

the  more  distinctly  will  the  differences  come 
out,  too.  Read  the  books  as  they  are,  and  let 
the  likenesses  and  the  unlikenesses  come  out 
as  they  may. 

Foster.  Will  you  give  me  some  illustration 
of  your  method  ?  I  will  ask  no  questions  as 
to  the  authorship  of  the  book  of  Genesis,  but 
what  do  you  say  of  its  account  of  the  Creation, 
when  the  modern  sciences  of  astronomy,  geo- 
logy, and  ethnology  have  shown  us  that  the 
beginnings  of  all  things  are  lost  in  infinite 
distances  of  time  and  place? 

The  Squire.  Whatever  discoveries  the  mind 
of  man  has  made  in  all  these  directions,  —  and 
I  do  not  question  their  reality  or  their  im- 
portance, —  they  have  neither  satisfied  nor 
even  ascertained  man's  demand  for  some  ideal 
of  a  Creation,  the  work  of  a  Creator.  And 
this  is  just  what  the  Hebrew  story  of  the 
Creation  supplies.  David  Hume,  lifting  his 
eyes  to  the  sky  on  a  starry  night,  said  to 
Adam   I  >n,  "Oh,  Adam,  how  can  a  man 

k  at  that  and  not  believe  in  a  God  !  "  Some 
three  thousand  years  before,  the  same  faith 
rhaps  awakened  by  the  same  sight  in 
the  mind  of  the  Hebrew,  whoever  In:  was. 
The  institutions  of  his  country  had  accustomed 
him  to  think  of  work  and  duty  with  the  rules 
f.f  law  and  order  as  the  highest  and  noblest 
forms    of   life,   and   therefore  those    ideals  in 


20o  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


which  his  belief  in  a  Creator  must  centre  itself. 
It  must  be  work  and  it  must  be  good,  worthy 
of  the  highest  workman.  But  there  are  method, 
law,  and  order  in  all  the  higher  kinds  of  work. 
One  of  the  most  ancient  of  his  national  in- 
stitutions, held  to  have  been  given  to  his 
people  by  the  Divine  King  himself,  was  that 
work  was  regulated  by  the  week,  —  the  division 
of  time  into  six  days  of  work  and  one  of  rest. 

Foster.  Then  do  you  go  on  to  discuss  such 
questions  as  whether  these  days  in  Genesis 
are  actual  days  or  geological  periods;  and  if 
the  latter,  whether  they  have  any  claim  to 
represent  accurately  those  periods  in  our  mod- 
ern science  ? 

The  Squire.  I  repeat  that  I  certainly  like  to 
read  such  disquisitions,  but  not  either  to  con- 
tradict and  confute,  nor  to  believe  and  follow. 
I  prefer  the  treatment  of  Seneca  and  Cicero, 
of  Addison  and  Wordsworth,  as  well  as  that 
of  the  Hebrew  psalmists  and  prophets  them- 
selves. There  is,  too,  if  I  remember  rightly, 
a  fine  passage  in  Luther's  Commentary  on 
Genesis  to  the  like  effect.  The  concrete  forms 
of  the  imagination  are  not  less  natural  than 
our  logical  or  scientific  abstractions,  and  are 
much  more  needful  to  our  moral  life.  And 
when  you  show  me  that  Hebrew  imagination 
and  modern  science  and  logic  do  not  run 
together  exactly  on  all  fours,  and  that  there 


The  Arrowheaded  Inscriptions  20 1 

has  been  no  miraculous  interposition  to  give 
the  first  the  same  kind  of  accuracy  as  belongs 
to  the  others,  I  say,  so  much  the  better.  Logi- 
cal skepticism,  like  that  of  Hume  and  John 
Mill,  recognizes  the  conceivableness  of  a 
miracle  where  there  is  a  reasonable  ground 
for  expecting  it ;  but  here  the  account  of 
Creation  is  all  the  more  human  because  it  in 
no  way  anticipates  Newton's  "Principia"  or 
Lyell's  "  Principles  of  Geology."  Nor  is  any 
claim  it  may  have  to  be  held  to  be  super- 
human affected  by  the  showing  that  it  is  not 
preter-  or  non-human. 

Foster.  Do  not  the  readers  of  the  arrow- 
headed  inscriptions  find  that  the  Assyrians 
divided  the  lunar  month  into  four  weeks,  with 
days  of  rest  named  the  Sabbath,  and  an  ac- 
count of  the  Creation  in  six  days? 

The  Squire.  We  are  told  so,  with  other 
things  of  a  like  kind.  If  they  were  confirmed, 
they  suggest  the  question  whether  the  Hebrew 
traditions,  which  are  so  infinitely  nobler  in 
moral  and  intellectual  as  well  as  literary  char- 
acter, are  developments  of  the  ruder  and 
rser  beliefs,  or  are  themselves  the  older, 
and  were  afterwards  degraded  from  their  ear- 
lier simplicity.  The  Hebrew  account  of  the 
migration  of  their  traditional  ancestor,  Abra- 
ham, will  fall  in  with  either  supposition.  The 
germs    of    national    lif<-,    civil    and    religious, 


202  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

which  he  brought  with  him,  and  which  eventu- 
ally grew  into  so  great  a  tree,  may  have  been 
mere  germs,  or  they  may  have  already  grown 
up  somewhat,  though  in  very  inferior  forms,  in 
Babylon  and  Assyria.  The  question  is  inter- 
esting, yet  it  is  perhaps  incapable  of  any 
answer  but  what  the  individual  habit  of  mind 
of  the  inquirer  may  give  it. 

Foster.  I  understand  you,  then,  to  hold  that 
there  is  so  little  evidence  as  to  the  early  or 
late  date  of  the  Hebrew  books,  and  so  much 
probable,  at  least  plausible  argument  on  either 
side,  that  the  reasonable  course  is  to  keep  the 
mind  in  suspense  on  the  subject.  I  like  to 
hear  both  sides;  and  yet  when  I  have  heard 
one,  I  always  feel  like  the  judge  who,  when 
he  had  heard  the  plaintiff,  stopped  the  case, 
because  he  said  he  saw  it  very  clearly  as  it 
was,  and  should  only  be  puzzled  if  he  heard 
more. 

The  Squire.  So  do  I ;  but  there  is  no  help 
for  it.  Anyhow,  these  prose  epics  of  the 
Hebrews  keep  their  ground,  age  after  age,  in 
all  lands  :  and  that  because,  for  simplicity, 
pathos,  grandeur,  and,  in  a  word,  humanity, 
there  is  nothing  equal  to  them.  They,  and 
not  Latin  and  Greek,  are  the  literal  humaniores 
of  the  world.  Milton  was  a  competent  judge, 
for  he  knew  all  alike,  and  he  expressed  his 
preference   for   the    Hebrew   above    all   other 


The  Arrowheaded  Inscriptions  203 

literatures.  Of  its  lyric  poetry,  after  speaking, 
in  the  preface  to  his  second  book  on  the 
"  Reason  of  Church  Government,"  of  "  those 
magnific  odes  wherein  Pindarus  and  Calli- 
machus  are  in  most  things  worthy,"  he  says, 
"  But  those  frequent  songs  throughout  the  Law 
and  the  Prophets,  beyond  all  these,  not  in  their 
divine  argument  alone,  but  in  the  very  critical 
art  of  composition,  may  be  easily  made  to 
appear,  over  all  the  kinds  of  lyric  poetry,  to 
be  incomparable." 

Foster.  Does  Milton  anywhere  speak  of  the 
book  of  Job  ? 

The  Squire.  I  do  not  remember  that  he 
does.  He  calls  the  Song  of  Solomon  a  pas- 
toral drama  ;  and  no  one  would  have  gainsaid 
him  if  he  had  declared  that  the  book  of  Job 
embodies  in  the  purest  poetry  the  true  idea  of 
the  tragic  drama,  —  the  riddle  of  the  Sphinx 
of  Greek  tragedy.  And  then  you  know  as  well 
as  I  do  his  comparison  of  the  Hebrew  poets 
and  prophets  with  the  Greek  and  Roman  poets 
and  orators.  But  let  me  hear  you  read  what 
one  can  never  be  tired  of. 

T'oster  (reads). 

"  <ir,  if  I  would  delight  my  private  hours 
With  music  or  with  poem,  where  so  soon 

As  in  oui  native  language  can  I  God 

I  solace?     All  our  law  and  story  Itrew'd 
With  hymns,  our  ptalmi  with  artful  terms  inscrib'd, 

Our  Hebrew  songs  and  harps,  in  Babylon 


204  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

That  pleased  so  well  our  victor's  ear,  declare 

That  rather  Greece  from  us  these  arts  derived; 

111  imitated,  while  they  loudest  sing 

The  vices  of  their  deities,  and  their  own 

In  fable,  hymn,  or  song,  so  personating 

Their  gods  ridiculous,  and  themselves  past  shame. 

Remove  their  swelling  epithets,  thick  laid 

As  varnish  on  a  harlot's  cheek,  the  rest, 

Thin  sown  with  aught  of  profit  or  delight, 

Will  far  be  found  unworthy  to  compare 

With  Sion's  songs,  to  all  true  taste  excelling, 

Where  God  is  praised  aright,  and  godlike  men, 

The  Holiest  of  Holies,  and  his  saints ; 

Such  are  from  God  inspir'd,  not  such  from  thee, 

Unless  where  moral  virtue  is  express'd 

By  light  of  nature  not  in  all  quite  lost. 

Their  orators  thou  then  extoll'st,  as  those 

The  top  of  eloquence  ;  statists  indeed, 

And  lovers  of  their  country,  as  may  seem ; 

But  herein  to  our  prophets  far  beneath, 

As  men  divinely  taught,  and  better  teaching 

The  solid  rules  of  civil  government 

In  their  majestic,  unaffected  style, 

Than  all  the  oratory  of  Greece  and  Rome. 

In  them  is  plainest  taught,  and  easiest  learnt, 

What  makes  a  nation  happy,  and  keeps  it  so, 

What  ruins  kingdoms  and  lays  cities  flat ; 

These  only  with  our  law  best  form  a  king." 

Do  you  think  that   their  political  philosophy 
was  so  instructive  and  important  as  he  says  ? 

The  Squire.  I  have  written  a  volume  to  try 
to  answer  the  question,  Yes,  as  to  one  of  the 
prophets,  Isaiah.  But  still  I  continue  to  ask 
it  of  myself.  My  doubt  is  less  whether  it  is 
true  than  how  and  when  it  can  and  will  be 
shown  to  be   true.     Our  political  morality  is 


The  Arrowheaded  Inscriptions  205 

not  very  high ;  yet  we  live  and  move,  if  only 
half  consciously,  in  a  religious  atmosphere 
unknown  to  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  but 
without  which  we  could  not  breathe.  And  this 
atmosphere  is  the  belief  in  the  God  made 
known  to  the  Hebrews  in  the  plain  of  Mamre 
and  the  Temple  of  Jerusalem. 

Foster.  I  suppose  the  differences  and  con- 
trasts between  the  Jewish  and  the  Assyrian 
religions  are  greater  than  their  resemblances  ? 

The  Squire.  Infinitely  greater.  There  is 
much  simplicity  in  the  Jewish  ritual,  notwith- 
standing the  daily  Temple  services,  which 
stands  in  marked  contrast  to  the  swarms  of 
gods,  devils,  and  spirits  of  all  kinds,  good  and 
bad,  with  the  rites  and  ceremonies  appropriate 
to  them  all.  It  is  indeed  a  puzzle  how  great 
military  conquerors  like  Tiglath-Pileser,  Sar- 
gon,  and  Sennacherib  could  have  found  time 
for  them. 

Foster.  I  suppose  it  was  chiefly  a  mechan- 
ical work  which  their  priests  could  do  for  them, 
—  a  sort  of  live  praying-machine,  not  essen- 
tially different  from  the  Tibet  praying-machines, 
which  they  work,  as  travelers  tell  us,  by  hand 
or  \>y  water-power,  for  private  or  public  wor- 
ship, as  the  case  may  be.  Bui  Isaiah  speaks 
of  these  conquerors  as  if  they  had  no  religion 
at  all,  but  were  mere  atheists. 

The  Squire.    Not  unnaturally,  though  a  nine- 


206  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

teenth-century  philosopher  like  yourself  may 
know  better.  But  I  am  reminded  of  a  curious 
parallel  between  the  language  in  which  Senna- 
cherib describes  his  treatment  of  Merodach- 
Baladan,  king  of  Babylon,  and  that  of  Isaiah 
as  to  the  fashion  of  the  conquest  of  one  of 
Sennacherib's  predecessors.  The  Assyrian 
king  says,  "All  his  broad  country  I  swept  like 
a  mighty  whirlwind.  Over  their  cornfields  I 
sowed  thistles."  "He  himself  —  for  the  fury 
of  my  attack  overwhelmed  him  —  lost  heart, 
and  like  a  bird  fled  away  alone,  and  his  place 
of  refuge  could  not  be  found."  And  the  Jew- 
ish prophet  I  might  almost  say  rejoins,  though 
his  words  are  a  little  earlier  in  date,  "  For  he 
saith,  By  the  strength  of  my  hand  I  have  done 
it,  and  by  my  wisdom  ;  for  I  am  prudent :  and 
I  have  removed  the  bounds  of  the  people  ;  .  .  . 
and  as  one  gathereth  eggs  that  are  left,  have 
I  gathered  all  the  earth ;  and  there  was  none 
that  moved  the  wing,  or  opened  the  mouth,  or 
peeped." 

Foster.  Should  you  say  that  the  Assyrians 
had  much  civilization,  in  an  ordinary  use  of 
the  word  ? 

The  Squire.  Possibly  as  much  as  the  Ro- 
mans had  before  they  conquered  Greece.  Like 
the  Romans,  they  loved  great  public  works ; 
and  the  remains  of  their  buildings  amply  con- 
firm  us   in  supposing   that   Sennacherib  said 


The  Arrowheaded  Inscriptions  207 


truly,  "Of  all  the  kings  of  former  days,  .  .  . 
though  the  central  palace  was  too  small  to  be 
their  royal  residence,  none  had  the  knowledge 
nor  the  wish  to  improve  it.  .  .  .  Then  I,  Senna- 
cherib, ...  by  command  of  the  gods  resolved 
in  my  heart  to  complete  this  work."  From 
this  and  other  passages  it  is  evident  that 
Sennacherib  was  what  the  Romans  called  a 
great  aedile.  Then  the  Assyrians  kept  histori- 
cal Annals  of  the  Empire,  the  truth  of  which 
is  proved  by  their  records  of  eclipses,  which 
have  been  verified  by  modern  astronomers. 

Foster.  But,  granting  without  reserve  that 
our  Assyriologists  have  really  recovered  the 
Language  and  read  the  inscriptions,  are  we 
bound  to  believe  all  they  tell  us  of  the  poetry, 
religion,  and  literature  of  this  ancient  country 
as  fluently  as  if  they  were  giving  us  an  account 
of  modern  China  or  Japan? 

The  Squire.  Ilafiz  says  that  the  leader  of 
the  caravan  cannot  be  without  information 
about  the  road  and  the  customs  of  the  wayside 
halting-places;  and  these  learned  men  must 
know  much  more  than  we,  and  be  able,  as  we 
are  not,  t<>  look  at  things  with  eyes  trained  to 
in  twilight.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  not 
unreasonable  t"  suppose  that  tiny  may  a  little 

overrate  what   lias  been    in  facl  a  very  wonder- 
ful discovery,  or   series  of   discoveries.      1  COn- 
that  when  reading  in  good  modern  English 


208  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

the  Assyrian  story  of  the  Creation  or  the 
Deluge,  I  have  felt  a  certain  relief,  a  sense  of 
having  a  bit  of  firm  ground  under  my  feet, 
when  I  have  come  to  the  statement  that  from 
here  the  tablets  are  missing,  or  some  lines  of 
the  writing  are  so  mutilated  as  to  defy  deci- 
pherment. 

Foster.  Like  Sidney  Smith's  admiration  for 
Macaulay's  occasional  flashes  of  silence.  But 
I  am  sure  you  will  be  glad  of  more  than  a 
flash  of  silence  after  all  this  long  talk. 


IX. 

TAKING    LEAVE. 

There 's  no  use  in  weeping 
Though  we  are  condemned  to  part : 
There 's  such  a  thing  as  keeping 
A  remembrance  in  one's  heart. 

Charlotte  Bronte. 

I  was  recalled  to  town,  and  had  to  bring  my 
pleasant  Somersetshire  visit  to  an  end.  When 
I  told  the  Squire,  he  said,  "  I  am  sorry  you 
must  go ;  but  a  good  host  must  speed  the 
parting  as  well  as  welcome  the  coming  guest. 
We  have  not  had  much  to  show  you,  except 
the  humors  of  the  general  election.  I  hope 
you  have  not  found  your  visit  dull." 

Foster.  Far  from  it.  I  have  seen  and  heard 
so  much  that  I  wish  I  could  sit  down  to  look 
round  and  consider  a  little  before  I  make  my 
last  day's  march,  like  the  soldier  in  the  French 
story  which  one  of  the  ladies  read  to  us  the 
other  day. 

TJu  Squire.  Von  mean  the  des<  tiption  of  the 
soldier  returning  home,  who  stops,  when  in 
sight  of  his  native  village,  to  look  back  on  his 
past  service  before  he  finishes  his  concluding 
march.      It   is  one  of    Pjnile  Souvestre's  idyls, 


2  io  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


—  little  pictures,  —  which  are  always  so  charm- 
ing ;  but  it  ought  to  suit  me  rather  than  you, 
as  it  is  the  opening  of  his  "  Souvenirs  d'un 
Vieillard."  Old  age  comes  in  every  variety  of 
form.  There  are  all  sorts  of  men,  soldiers, 
statesmen,  men  of  business,  of  letters,  of 
science,  and  peasants,  who  die  in  harness. 
There  are  some  men  and  women  whose  powers 
of  body  decay,  while  their  minds  keep,  or  even 
add  to,  their  original  vigor ;  with  others  the 
mind  —  or  perhaps  it  is  really  the  brain  —  goes 
before  the  body;  while  with  others,  again, 
there  is  a  gradual  and  gentle  decline  of  the 
powers  of  action  both  of  mind  and  body  to 
the  last.  And  though  we  all  instinctively  feel 
death  to  be  an  evil  for  ourselves  and  for  those 
who  love  us,  yet  a  man  may  live  too  long,  or 
at  least  till  his  life  seems  to  have  no  further 
use  than  to  point  the  moral  that  death  is  not 
only  inevitable,  but  no  less  natural  than  life, 
so  far  as  this  world  is  concerned. 

Foster.  You  remind  me  of  Swift's  horrible 
picture  of  the  Struldbrugs. 

The  Squire.  The  caricature  is  frightful,  but 
the  likeness  cannot  be  denied.  It  would  be 
better  for  us  all,  for  ourselves  as  well  as  for 
the  young  men  in  whose  way  we  stand,  if  we 
old  men  took  Swift's  warning  more  to  heart", 
for  the  old  man  to  die  in  harness  is  for  the 
most    part    a   mistake.     He    deludes   himself 


Taking  Leave  2 1 1 


when  he  thinks  that  his  wider  knowledge  and 
greater  experience  will  enable  him  to  do  the 
work  as  well  as  if  he  had  still  the  young  man's 
powers  of  action. 

Foster.  Old  age  did  not  dim  the  artist's  eye 
nor  enfeeble  the  hand  of  Titian  or  Tintoretto, 
nor  abate  the  military  genius  of  Radetzky  or 
Moltke ;  and  Michael  Angelo  was  between 
eighty  and  ninety  when  he  planned  and  su- 
perintended the  building  of  the  dome  of  St. 
Peter's,  — hanging  the  Pantheon  in  heaven,  as 
he  said. 

The  Squire.  You  carry  too  many  guns  for 
me.  I  might  plead  that  artists  are  hardly  men 
of  action,  or  that  exceptions  prove  the  rule ; 
but  I  confess  that  I  have  "generalized  from 
too  few  particulars."  I  was  thinking  chiefly 
of  our  old  generals  in  the  first  Afghan  war 
and  in  the  Crimea,  and  our  old  statesmen  in 
the  last  fifty  years  of  our  parliamentary  history. 
Gibbon  says,  in  his  stately  style,  of  one  of  the 
ian  emperors  that  he  put  an  interval  be- 
11  life  and  death.  I  believe  In-  means  that 
he  abdicated  and  wenl  into  a  convent;  but, 
without  advising  the  <  onditions  <>f  t he  convent, 
1   have  mm  doubt  that  he  is   both  the  w;scst  and 

the  happiesl  old  man  who  docs  abdicate  the 

functions    of   a    life    of  action,   and    so    in    In  t 

puts  an  interval  between  life  and  death.    Thus 

he   may  sit  down,  pleasantly  enough,  in  sight 


2 1 2  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

of  his  home,  and,  like  Souvestre's  conscript, 
consider. 

Foster.  And  tell  us,  whose  service  is  still 
going  on,  something  both  interesting  and  in- 
structive about  his  own  experiences  in  that 
service. 

The  Squire.  We  will  hope  so.  Indeed,  I 
often  think  that  there  is  a  use  to  the  world  in 
the  occurrence  of  this  interval  between  life  and 
death,  if  both  the  old  and  the  young  employ  it 
rightly.  But  the  old  man  must  beware  of  the 
besetting  sin  of  such  old  age. 

Foster.    What  is  that  ? 

The  Squire.  Garrulous  twaddle.  Shake- 
speare, whom  no  form  or  condition  of  man's 
life  escapes,  has  given  us  the  picture  of  this 
garrulousness  in  Dogberry,  Justice  Shallow, 
and  Polonius ;  but  I  need  not  quote  him  to  you. 

Foster.   Who  is,  or  was,  Souvestre  ? 

TJie  Squire.  £mile  Souvestre  was  a  French 
man  of  letters  in  what  I  suppose  I  must  call 
the  last  generation,  though  he  was  only  six 
years  older  than  myself.  The  son  of  an  offi- 
cer of  engineers,  and  educated  for  the  bar,  he 
had  early  entered  on  a  literary  career  in  Paris, 
full  of  promise,  when  the  death  of  his  elder 
brother  and  the  loss  of  the  family  property 
threw  upon  him  the  support  of  his  widowed 
mother  and  sister-in-law.  To  provide  for  them 
he  at  once  left  Paris  to  enter  on  the  humble 


Taking  Leave  213 


work  of  serving  customers  behind  the  counter, 
and  doing  the  other  retail  business  of  a  book- 
seller in  Nantes  with  whom  he  found  employ- 
ment. His  literary  ability  and  moral  worth 
were  soon  recognized  by  one  of  those  custom- 
ers, a  deputy  and  a  man  of  wealth,  who  was 
engaged  in  plans  for  the  better  education  of 
his  countrymen.  Souvestre's  services  were  en- 
gaged for  the  conduct  of  a  college  founded  by 
this  gentleman  ;  then  he  became  a  professor 
of  rhetoric  and  editor  of  a  newspaper  at  Brest, 
while  occupying  himself  with  other  literary 
work  also.  Thence  he  eventually  returned  to 
Paris,  where  he  spent  the  rest  of  his  life, 
diversified  only  by  visits  to  the  provinces  and 
to  French  Switzerland  for  the  purpose  of  giving 
lectures  to  the  crowded  audiences  which  always 
welcomed  him.  He  was  eminently  patriotic ; 
the  ruling  motive  —  I  might  say  passion  —  of 
his  life  was  the  education  (the  culture,  moral 
and  religious,  even  more  than  the  intellectual 
culture)  of  his  countrymen.  We  English  are 
apt  to  pride  ourselves  on  our  love  of  duty,  but 
no  Englishman  makes  duty  the  guiding  star  of 
his  life  more  than  did  Souvestre.  It  is  the 
keynote  of  everything  be  writes.    And  what  he 

lit   he   had    first    tried    and   practiced  in  his 
own    life.      "In    his    own    lir.ut    he    first    kept 

school;"  and  those  who  knew  liim  most  in- 
timately said  that  the  sense  of  duty,  which  was 


214  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

always  strong  and  even  stern  to  himself,  only 
showed  itself  in  perfect  love  to  those  around 
him. 

Foster.    What  did  he  write  ? 

The  Squire.  Though  he  died  at  the  age  of 
forty-eight,  he  left  nearly  seventy  volumes. 
His  history  of  his  native  and  loved  Brittany, 
"Les  Derniers  Bretons,"  is  full  of  life  and  inter- 
est as  well  as  of  local  and  literary  research,  and 
is  recognized  as  classical.  But  his  chief  lit- 
erary work  —  I  speak  not  of  his  lectures,  but 
of  his  books — was  that  of  story-telling.  He 
has  given  us  an  infinite  variety  of  tales  of 
French  life  in  town  and  country,  all  of  which 
are  true  idyls.  The  characters  as  well  as  the 
incidents  are  full  of  dramatic  interest.  The 
high  and  generous  moral  spirit  which  guides 
their  destiny  is  never  obtruded.  It  is  the 
atmosphere  which  we  really  though  uncon- 
sciously breathe.  And  though  I  do  not  pretend 
to  pronounce  judgment  on  style  in  any  lan- 
guage but  English,  I  think  I  may  call  that 
writing  terse,  lucid,  and  graceful  which  was 
crowned  with  the  approval  of  the  Acaddmie 
Franchise ;  but  a  still  higher  eulogy  was  be- 
stowed by  that  learned  body  upon  Souvestre 
when  they  granted  to  his  widow  the  testi- 
monial founded  by  M.  Lambert  in  recognition 
of  the  man  who  had  been  most  useful  to  his 
country. 


Taking  Leave  215 


Foster.  Have  any  of  his  books  been  trans- 
lated into  English  ? 

The  Squire.  His  "  Philosophe  sous  les 
Toits,"  "  Confessions  d'un  Ouvrier,"  and  two 
or  three  of  the  tales  of  Brittany  were  trans- 
lated by  one  with  whose  hand  my  own  was 
joined  in  the  task  ;  and  of  these  the  first  was 
reprinted  in  America.  His  longer  work,  "Les 
Derniers  Bretons,"  was,  absurdly  enough,  trans- 
lated into  English  from  a  German  version, — 
the  consequence,  as  the  publisher  said  to  me, 
of  the  bad  habit  of  not  reading  prefaces.  And 
another  translator  has  published  one  of  his 
longer  tales  with  the  title  of  "  Leaves  from  a 
Family  Journal." 

Foster.    Did  you  know  him  well  ? 

The  Squire.  I  feel  ready  to  say  Yes,  though 
I  never  saw  him.  Here  is  his  own  way  of  an- 
swering the  question  in  a  letter  to  his  transla- 
tor.   (Takes  a  letter  from  a  drawer  and  reads.) 

"  Et  maintenant,  madame,  permettez-moi 
d'ajouter  de  vifs  et  sinceres  remerciments  pour 
l'honneur  que  vous  avez  fait  a  l'auteur  en 
choisissant  son  livre  pour  etre  traduit  dans 
votre  langue  ;  c'est  une  distinction  dont  il  se 
tient  fort  touchc.  Vouloir  traduire  un  livre, 
c'cst  prouver  qu'on  entre  en  sympathie  avec 

ui  qui  I'a  lent,  et  qu'on  sent,  qu'on  pense 
comme  lui.  II  n'esl  rien  de  plus  doux  que  ces 
adhesions  obtenues  dc  loin,  et  il  y  a  un  charme 


2i6  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


particulier  dans  les  amis  inconnus  qui  repondent 
avotre  coeur  sans  que  vous  avez  jamais  entendu 
leur  voix."  ' 

Of  such  unknown  friends  none  lives  so 
present  to  my  memory  as  fimile  Souvestre. 

Foster.  That  must  be  the  best  kind  of  mem- 
ory. But  a  memory  for  facts  and  words  is  a 
good  thing,  too,  and  must,  I  suppose,  be  an 
essential  qualification  for  writing  history. 

The  Squire.  Gibbon's  memory  must  have 
been  at  once  enormous  and  minute ;  Niebuhr 
wrote  down  his  quotations  of  chapter  and 
verse  without  needing  to  refer  to  the  books 
themselves ;  Johannes  von  Miiller  could  re- 
peat the  pedigrees  of  all  the  little  German 
princes ;  and  Macaulay  could  tell  the  names 
in  succession,  and  backwards  as  well  as  for- 
wards, of  the  Archbishops  of  Canterbury  or 
the  Popes,  or  both.  A  host  of  other  instances 
of  verbal  memory  crowd  on  me;  the  prettiest, 
if  not  the  most  important,  is  the  story  of  Pope 
reading  his  "  Rape  of  the  Lock  "  to  Parnell. 

i  "  And  now,  madam,  allow  me  to  add  my  most  sincere 
thanks  for  the  honor  you  have  done  the  author  in  choosing 
his  book  for  translation  into  your  own  language ;  it  is  a  dis- 
tinction which  he  feels  very  sensibly.  To  resolve  to  translate 
a  book  is  to  give  proof  of  hearty  sympathy  with  the  writer  of 
it,  and  of  feeling  and  thinking  like  himself.  Nothing  is  more 
gratifying  than  to  receive  such  assurances  of  sympathy  from 
a  distance,  and  there  is  a  peculiar  charm  in  the  unknown 
friends  whose  hearts  answer  to  your  own,  though  you  have 
never  heard  their  voices." 


Taking  Leave  217 


Foster.    What  is  that  ?    I  do  not  remember  it. 

The  Squire.  Pope  read  the  first  canto  of  his 
new  poem  to  Parnell.  Parnell  said,  "  I  am 
sure  I  have  heard  those  lines  before,  —  I  think 
in  a  monkish  Latin  original."  Pope  declared 
that  they  were  all  his  own  ;  but  Parnell  per- 
sisted, and  said  he  would  find  and  send  them 
to  Pope.  And  on  his  return  home  he  sent 
Pope  —  to  his  great  annoyance  till  the  truth 
was  known  —  the  Latin  verses,  which  I  think 
I  can  repeat,  as  well  as  Pope's  own.  Pope's 
lines  are  :  — 

"  And  now,  unveil'd,  the  Toilet  stands  display'd, 
Each  silver  vase  in  mystic  order  laid. 
First,  rob'd  in  white,  the  nymph  intent  adores, 
With  head  uncover'd,  the  cosmetic  powers. 
A  heavenly  Image  in  the  glass  appears, 
To  that  she  bends,  to  that  her  eyes  she  rears; 
Th'  inferior  Priestess,  at  her  altar's  side, 
Trembling,  begins  the  sacred  rites  of  Pride. 
Unnumber'd  treasures  ope  at  once,  and  here 
The  various  offerings  of  the  world  appear ; 
From  each  she  nicely  culls  with  curious  toil, 
And  decks  the  Goddess  with  the  glittering  spoil 
This  casket  India's  glowing  gems  unlocks, 
And  all  Arabia  breathes  from  yonder  box. 
The  Tortoise  here  and  Elephant  unite, 
Transformed  to  combs,  the  •  |  and  the  white. 

Here  files  of  pins  extend  their  shining  rows, 

Puffs,  Powders,  Patch     Bil      ,  Billet-doux 

Now  awful  beauty  puts  on  all  its  arms  ; 
The  fair  each  mom  in  hei  charms, 

her  imile 

A 1.  rth  all  the  wonders  of  ha  face; 

Sees  by  degrees  a  purer  blush  a:. 

And  keener  lightnings  quicken  in  her  eyes. 


218  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

The  busy  sylphs  surround  their  darling  care ; 
These  set  the  head,  and  those  divide  the  hair ; 
Some  fold  the  sleeve,  whilst  others  plait  the  gown ; 
And  Betty  's  praised  for  labours  not  her  own." 

And  these  are  Parnell's  :  — 

"  Et  nunc  dilectum  speculum,  pro  more  retectum, 
Emicat  in  mensa,  quae  splendet  pyxide  densai. 
Turn  primum  lympha  se  purgat  Candida  nympha ; 
Jamque  sine  menda,  coelestis  imago  videnda, 
Nuda  caput,  bellos  retinet,  regit,  implet,  ocellos. 
Hac  stupet  explorans,  seu  cultfis  numen  adorans. 
Inferior  claram  Pythonissa  apparet  ad  aram, 
Fertque  tibi  caute  dicatque  superbia  !  laute, 
Dona  venusta ;  oris  quae  cunctis,  plena  laboris, 
Excerpta  explorat,dominamque  deamque  decorat. 
Pyxide  devota,  se  pandit  hie  India  tota, 
Et  tota  ex  ista  transpirat  Arabia  cistS : 
Testudo  hie  flectit  dum  se  mea  Lesbia  pectit ; 
Atque  elephas  lente  te  pectit,  Lesbia, dente; 
Hunc  maculis  noris,  nivei  jacet  ille  coloris. 
Hie  jacet  et  munde  mundus  muliebris  abunde ; 
Spinula  resplendens  aeris  longo  ordine  pendens, 
Pulvis  suavis  odore,  et  epistola  suavis  amore. 
Induit  arma  ergo,  Veneris  pulcherrima  virgo, 
Pulchrior  in  praesens  tempus  de  tempore  crescens; 
Jam  reparat  risus,  jam  surgit  gratia  visus, 
Jam  promit  cultu  miracula  latentia  vultu  ; 
Pigmina  jam  miscet,  quo  plus  sua  purpura  gliscet, 
Et  geminans  bellis  splendet  mage  fulgor  ocellis. 
Stant  Lemures  muti,  nymphae  intentique  saluti, 
Hie  figit  zonam,  capiti  locat  ille  coronam, 
Haec  manicis  formam,  plicis  dat  et  altera  normam ; 
Et  tibi  vel  Betty,  tibi  vel  nitidissima  Letty  1 
Gloria  factorum  temere  conceditur  horum." 

You  see  they  are  a  very  exact  representation 
of  Pope,  and  monkish  leonine  hexameters. 


Taking  Leave  2 1 9 


Foster.  Why  do  you  call  them  leonine,  and 
where  is  the  story  to  be  found  ? 

The  Squire.  I  believe  they  are  called  leonine 
because  a  lion's  tail  has,  or  was  supposed  to 
have,  a  tuft  in  the  middle,  and  another  at  its 
end.  But  as  to  where  I  got  the  story,  —  I  got 
it  from  my  father ;  but  whether  you  will  find 
it  in  the  books  told  as  I  have  told  it,  I  do  not 
know. 

Foster.  You  have  always  a  good  memory, 
Squire,  for  this  kind  of  story. 

The  Squire.  So  my  friends  are  kind  enough 
to  tell  me.  But  I  doubt  it.  I  am  certainly 
wanting  in  the  sort  of  memory  we  were  just 
now  talking  of,  as  possessed  by  Macaulay  and 
others  ;  and  I  should  say  that,  as  far  as  my 
own  observation  goes,  the  recollection  of  good 
stories,  family  traditions,  and  other  memories 
of  a  like  kind,  are  not  so  much  recollections 
of  the  things  themselves  as  they  actually  hap- 
pened or  were  told,  but  rather  pictures  which 
have  gradually  taken  shape  and  color  in  the 
narrator's  imagination  with  such  apparent  dis- 
tinctness and  reality  that  he  seems  to  himself 
and  his  friends  to  be  showing  them  a  collec- 
tion of  photographs,  when  in  truth  they  are 
pictures  in  the  composition  of  which  there  may 

be  any  amount  of  art  combined  with  nature, 
and  of  fiction  with  fact.  My  brothers,  old  men, 
fond  of  family  traditions  and  good  stories,  tell 


220  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

these  each  in  a  different  way ;  and  yet  they 
are  all  clear  headed  and  well  informed.  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  asked  how  it  could  be  possible 
to  know  rightly  what  happened  in  old  times, 
when  he  found  that  he  could  not  get  accurate 
information  as  to  something  which  was  happen- 
ing under  the  very  window  of  his  prison. 

Foster.  Then,  like  your  Welsh  or  Irish  judge, 
we  must  decline  to  hear  more  than  one  account 
of  the  matter,  and  write  that  down  at  once.  So 
I  hope  I  am  well  advised  in  keeping  a  journal. 

The  Squire. 

"  A  chiel  's  amang  you  taking  notes, 
And,  faith,  he  '11  prent  it." 

Foster.  Shall  you  object  if  I  am  lucky 
enough  to  find  a  publisher? 

The  Squire.  No.  I  think  we  all  like  to  see 
ourselves  in  print ;  certainly  I  do. 

Foster.  I  have  often  wished  that  you  had  a 
Talking  Oak  in  your  avenue. 

The  Squire.  Or,  still  better,  a  Writing  Bos- 
well,  a  ghostly  predecessor  of  yourself,  my 
dear  Foster,  who  might  appear  from  time  to 
time  from  behind  some  sliding  panel  with  his 
notebook,  and  read  out  his  notes  of  the  talk 
that  has  gone  on  for  nearly  six  hundred  years 
in  this  old  house.  If  he  could  not  tell  us  more 
than  we  know  of  the  dispute  between  the  two 
giants  about  the  battlemented  wall,  he  might 
tell  us  how  to  fill  in  the  meagre  outline  of 


Taking  Leave  221 


episcopal  and  royal  records  about  William  de 
Sutton  and  Basilia  de  Sutton  (his  aunt  or 
sister,  as  I  guess),  who  lived  in  the  tower  in 
the  first  half  of  the  fourteenth  century. 

Foster.    What  are  those  records  ? 

The  Squire.     In   13 15,  the  bishop  wrote  to 
William   de    Sutton    entreating    him    "  of    his 
charity  "  to  undertake  the  guardianship  of  the 
mismanaged  revenues  of  the  neighboring  nun- 
nery of  Barrow ;  but  the  control  was  ineffectual, 
for,  some  years  later,  we  find  instructions  to 
"  restrain  the  prioress  Joanna  from  wandering 
abroad."    followed    by   a   consistorial    inquiry 
into   the   continual   wasting   of   the   revenues 
upon  the  burdensome  family  (onerosa  familia) 
and  the  lodgers  of  the  prioress,  in  which  in- 
quiry the  sub-prioress  was  assisted  by  Basilia 
de  Sutton,  who  was  eventually  herself   made 
prioress  after  the  death  of    Agnes,  who  had 
succeeded  for  a  few  months  on  the  resignation 
of    the   discredited   Joanna.     But   William  de 
Sutton's  services  to  the  Church  did  not  prevent 
his  maintaining  his  claims  against  her.     In  the 
plaeita,  or  "  I'leas  "  of   1322,  we   find   him  com- 
plaining before  the  kind's  judges  of  the  tres- 
pass of  the  servants  of  the  rector  of  the  adjoin- 
ing parish   of   Stanton  Drew,  and    llie   parson's 
servant   replying  that   he,  the   parson,  bad   the 
right  of    pasturage    after  the    crop    had    been 
taken  • 


222  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Foster.  The  old,  never-ending  feud  of  squire 
and  parson.  But  how  was  it  that  the  knight 
did  not  take  law  into  his  own  hands,  and  seize 
the  rector's  cows  without  more  ado  ? 

The  Squire.  I  remember  suggesting  this  very 
question  to  Freeman  here  in  the  tower ;  and  he 
said  that  we  must  not  think  of  the  mediaeval 
knights  in  England  as  if  they  had  the  habits 
of  those  robber  knights  of  Germany  and 
France ;  for  in  England  there  were  very  few 
such  men.  The  English  mediaeval  knight,  he 
said,  was  for  the  most  part  a  man  carrying  on 
perpetual  small  lawsuits  at  Westminster  about 
rights  of  land.  That  ghostly  Boswell  could 
tell  us  when  the  tower  was  built,  and  who 
added  the  "old  Manor  Place  "  where  Leland 
found  Sir  John  St.  Loe ;  what  was  the  talk 
that  went  on  between  the  knight  and  his  vis- 
itor, who  so  accurately  observed  and  carefully 
recorded  everything  that  he  saw  or  heard:  — 
then  we  might  hear  how,  in  the  next  genera- 
tion, Building  Bess  talked  over  her  plans  for 
improvement  and  those  talks  between  John 
Locke  and  John  Strachey,  to  the  renewal  of 
which  Locke  looked  forward  with  so  much 
pleasure  on  his  return  from  Holland. 

Foster.  You  told  me  the  other  day  who  wrote 
the  article  on  Nonsense  in  the  "  Quarterly," 
so  you  can  tell  me  something  about  the  unpub- 
lished Eclogue  which  is  alluded  to,  but  not 
given,  in  the  article. 


Taking  Leave  223 

The  Squire.  Here  it  is.  The  "competitors," 
as  the  Clown  in  il  Twelfth  Night "  would  have 
called  them,  are  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Symonds,  who 
were,  like  Lear  himself,  spending  the  winter  at 
Cannes.  You  may  take  this  copy,  —  I  have 
another;  and  when  you  "prent"  your  notes, 
put  this  Eclogue  into  them.  There  will  be  no 
breach  of  confidence  in  doing  so.  (The  Squire 
reads.) 

ECLOGUE. 

(Composed  at  Cannes,  December  9,  1S67.) 

Edwardus.   What  makes  you  look  so  black,  so  glum,  so 
cross  ? 
Is  it  neuralgia,  headache,  or  remorse  ? 
Johannes.    What  makes  you  look  as  cross,  or  even  more 
so,— 
Less  like  a  man  than  is  a  broken  torso  ? 

Edw.    What  if  my  life  is  odious,  should  I  grin? 
If  you  are  savage,  need  I  care  a  pin  ? 

Joh.    And  if  1  suffer,  am  I  then  an  owl  ? 
Hay  I  not  frown  and  grind  my  teeth  and  growl? 
Edw.   Of  course  you  may  ;  but  may  not  I  growl,  too  ? 

I  not  frown  and  grind  my  teeth  like  you  ? 
Joh.   See  Catherine  comes  !   To  her,  to  her, 
Let  each  his  several  miseries'  rtfer: 
She  shall  decide-  w!  •  or  worst, 

And  which,  a  -  -hall  rank  List  or  first. 

therinc.    I  to  growl  in  silence.   I  Ml  attend, 

An'l  r  foolish  growlings  to  the  end  : 

And  're  done,  I  shall  correctly  judge 

Which  of  your  k<  ■  J  01  "nlv  fad 

•urtif ul  voice  prepare, 
(And,  pray  I  hew  '  !) 

Joh.  We  came  abroad  i"i  warmth,  and  find  sharp  cold; 
Cannes  is  an  imposition,  and  we're  sold. 


224  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Edw.   Why  did  I  leave  my  native  land  to  find 
Sharp  hailstones,  snow,  and  most  disgusting  wind  ? 

Joh.   What  boots  it  that  we  orange  trees  or  lemon  see, 
If  we  must  surfer  from  such  vile  inclemency? 

Edw.    Why  did  I  take  the  lodgings  I  have  got, 
Where  all  I  don't  want  is  ?    All  I  want,  not  ? 

Joh.   Last  week  I  called  aloud,  Oh  !  oh  I  oh !  oh  I 
The  ground  is  wholly  overspread  with  snow  1 
Is  that,  at  any  rate,  a  theme  for  mirth 
Which  makes  a  sugar-cake  of  all  the  earth  ? 

Edw.   Why  must  I  sneeze  and  snuffle,  groan  and  cough, : 
If  my  hat 's  on  my  head,  or  if  it 's  off  ? 
Why  must  I  sink  all  poetry  in  this  prose, 
The  everlasting  blowing  of  my  nose  ? 

Joh.    When  I  walk  out,  the  mud  my  footsteps  clogs ; 
Besides,  I  suffer  from  attacks  of  dogs. 

Edw.   Me  a  vast  awful  bulldog,  black  and  brown, 
Completely  terrified  when  near  the  town; 
As  calves  perceiving  butchers,  trembling,  reel, 
So  did  my  calves  the  approaching  monster  feel. 

Joh.   Already  from  two  rooms  we  're  driven  away, 
Because  the  beastly  chimneys  smoke  all  day  : 
Is  this  a  trifle,  say  ?   Is  this  a  joke, 
That  we,  like  hams,  should  be  becooked  in  smoke? 

Edw .  Say  !  what  avails  it  that  my  servant  speak 
Italian,  English,  Arabic,  and  Greek, 
Besides  Albanian  ?   If  he  don't  speak  French, 
How  can  he  ask  for  salt,  or  shrimps,  or  tench? 

Joh.    When  on  the  foolish  hearth  fresh  wood  I  place, 
It  whistles,  sings,  and  squeaks  before  my  face ; 
And  if  it  does,  unless  the  fire  burns  bright, 
And  if  it  does,  yet  squeaks,  how  can  I  write  ? 

Edw .    Alas,  I  needs  must  go  and  call  on  swells ; 
And  they  may  say,  "  Pray  draw  me  the  Estrelles." 
On  one  I  went  last  week  to  leave  a  card: 
The  swell  was  out,  the  servant  eyed  me  hard. 
"  This  chap  's  a  thief  disguised,"  his  face  exprest. 
If  I  go  there  again  I  may  be  blest ! 

Joh.   Why  must  I  suffer  in  this  wind  and  gloom  ? 
Roomatics  in  a  vile  cold  attic  room  ? 


Taking  Leave  225 


Edw.   Swells  drive  about  the  road  with  haste  and  fury, 
As  Jehu  drove  about  all  over  Jewry. 
Just  now,  while  walking  slowly,  I  was  all  but 
Run  over  by  the  Lady  Emma  Talbot, 
Whom  not  long  since  a  lovely  babe  I  knew, 
With  eyes  and  cap-ribbons  of  perfect  blue. 

Joh.   Downstairs  and  upstairs  eve-y  blessed  minute 
There  's  each  room  with  pianofortes  in  it. 
How  can  I  write  with  noises  such  as  those, 
And  being  always  discomposed,  compose  ? 

Edw.  Seven  Germans  through  my  garden  lately  strayed, 
And  all  on  instruments  of  torture  played  ; 
They  blew,  they  screamed,  they  yelled.    How  can  I  paint 
Unless  my  room  is  quiet,  which  it  ain't  ? 

Joh.    How  can  I  study  if  a  hundred  flies 
Each  moment  blunder  into  both  my  eyes  ? 

Edw.   How  can  I  draw  with  green,  or  blue,  or  red, 
If  flies  and  beetles  vex  my  old  bald  head  ? 

Joh.    How  can  1  translate  German  metaphys- 
ics, if  mosquitoes  round  my  forehead  whizz  ? 

Edw.    I  've  bought  some  bacon,  (though  it 's  much  too  fat,) 
But  round  the  house  there  prowls  a  hideous  cat ; 
Once  should  I  see  my  bacon  in  her  mouth, 
What  care  I  if  my  rooms  look  north  or  south? 

Joh.    Pain  from  a  pane  in  one  cracked  window  comes, 
Which  sings  and  whistles,  buzzes,  shrieks  and  hums  ; 
In  vain  amain  with  pain  the  pane  with  this  chord, 
I  fain  would  strain  to  stop  the  beastly  discwA ! 

v.   If  rain  and  wind  and  I  such  like  ilia 

Continue  here,  how  shall  I  pay  my  bills? 
I  through  cold  and  slush  and  rain  will  coma 

'I ..  iee  my  di  '■  some? 

And  if  they  don't,  whit  destiny  is  mine? 
can  I  ever  get  to  Palestine? 

Joh.    The  blinding  sun  strikes  through  the  olive-trees, 
When  I  walk  out,  and  always  makes  mc  sneeze. 

if  all  night  long  the  moon  is  shilling 

Th,..  up  with  whining. 

i  tcs,  you've  growled  enough: 

No  longer  will  I  listen  to  such  Itufl  I 


226  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

All  men  have  nuisances  and  bores  to  afflict  'urn ; 

Hark,  then,  and  bow  to  my  official  dictum! 

For  you,  Johannes,  there  is  most  excuse, 

(Some  interruptions  are  the  very  deuce  ;) 

You  're  younger  than  the  other  cove,  who  surely 

Might  have  some  sense;  besides,  you  're  somewhat  poorly. 

This,  therefore,  is  my  sentence :  that  you  nurse 

The  Baby  for  seven  hours,  and  nothing  worse. 

For  you,  Edwardus,  I  shall  say  no  more 

Than  that  your  griefs  are  fudge,  yourself  a  bore. 

Return  at  once  to  cold,  stewed,  minced,  hashed  mutton, 

To  wristbands  ever  guiltless  of  a  button, 

To  raging  winds  and  sea,  (where  don't  you  wish 

Your  luck  may  ever  let  you  catch  one  fish  ?) 

To  make  large  drawings  nobody  will  buy, 

To  paint  oil  pictures  which  will  never  dry, 

To  write  new  books  which  nobody  will  read, 

To  drink  weak  tea,  on  tough  old  pigs  to  feed, 

Till  springtime  brings  the  birds  and  leaves  and  flowers, 

And  time  restores  a  world  of  happier  hours. 

Foster.  It  is  very  good,  and  certainly  ought 
to  find  a  place  among  Lear's  works.  It  is 
quite  a  new  kind  among  the  many  sorts  of 
Nonsense,  the  variety  of  which  is  one  of  their 
characteristics.    Did  you  know  Lear  well  ? 

The  Squire.  I  was  not  one  of  his  early 
friends ;  but  I  had  friends  among  these,  and 
latterly  I  saw  him  often,  here,  or  in  his  own 
house,  or  mine,  on  the  Riviera.  He  was  a 
warm-hearted,  affectionate  man,  with  a  craving 
for  sympathy  expressed  in  his  whole  manner, 
and  which  was  no  doubt  heightened  by  his 
having  no  more  of  home  life  than  was  afforded 
him  by  his  old  Albanian  man-servant  and  his 


Taking  Leave  227 


tailless  cat  Foss.  He  loved  children,  as  his 
nonsense  books  so  abundantly  bear  witness ; 
and  many  of  his  songs  and  stories  were  either 
written  for  this  or  that  child,  or  given  to  him 
or  her,  in  his  own  handwriting  and  with  his 
own  inimitable  pictures.  One  of  my  nieces 
had  "  The  Owl  and  the  Pussy  Cat,"  and  one 
of  my  sons  "  The  Duck  and  the  Kangaroo," 
and  "Calico  Pie,"  in  what  may  be  called 
the  originals,  —  one  of  them  in  a  letter  signed 
Yours  affectionately,  Derry  down  derry 
clumps ; "  and  my  daughter  has  a  series  of 
heraldic  representations  of  Foss,  proper,  cou- 
chant,  passant,  rampant,  regardant,  dansant, 
a-'untin,  drawn  for  her  on  the  backs  of  letters. 
His  letters  to  his  grown-up  friends  were  em- 
bellished in  like  manner.  When  he  wrote  to 
ask  me  to  inquire  about  a  new  hotel  above 
the  Lake  of  Como,  where  he  had  thought  of 
spending  the  summer  till  he  heard  a  report 
that  there  was  smallpox  there,  he  illustrated 
the  inquiry  by  a  sketch  of  himself  covered 
with  spots  ;  and  when  writing  to  ask  where  he 
could  hear  of  some  friends  who  always  traveled 
with  a  lapdog,  he  represented  the  dog  over- 
ping  the  whole  of  the  party.  He  some- 
times, too.  sent   his  grown-up  friends  some  of 

his  \  he  Bent  me  the  then  unpublished 

conclusion  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.   Discobbolos. 

Foster.    I   have   heard   that  the  connoisseurs 


228  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

of  art  —  critics,  or  whatever  you  call  them  — 
see  some  fault  in  his  serious  pictures,  but  T 
forget  what  it  is.  They  seem  to  me  very  good, 
especially  those  taken  on  the  Nile.  But  only 
a  true  artist  could  have  drawn  those  nonsense 
outlines  in  all  their  variety.  Then,  too,  how 
appropriate  is  the  music  to  which  he  married 
his  immortal  caricature  of  pen  and  pencil ! 
But  is  it  true  that  much  of  this  music  has  been 
lost  to  us  because  he  did  not  know  how  to 
write  down  what  he  had  composed  ? 

The  Squire.  I  fear  it  is  so ;  though  he  pub- 
lished some  of  the  music  to  which  he  has  so 
admirably  set  not  only  his  own  comic  verses, 
but  several  of  Tennyson's  songs.  There  is 
much  more  that  can  now  live  only  in  the 
memory  of  those  who  knew  and  loved  him. 
I  say  "loved,"  because  he  was  eminently  a 
man  of  whom  it  might  be  said,  — 

"  And  you  must  love  him  ere  to  you 
He  will  seem  worthy  of  your  love." 

I  recall  the  image  of  the  genial  old  man,  with 
his  black  spectacles,  or  rather  goggles,  his 
gaunt  figure,  and  his  face  expressive  of  mingled 
fun  and  melancholy,  as  he  showed  us  his  pic- 
turesque house  at  San  Remo,  or,  later  in  the 
day,  sat  down  at  the  piano  in  our  room  at  the 
hotel,  and  played  and  sang  to  his  own  music 
his  own  pathetic  nonsense  of  the  "  Yonghy 
Bonghy  B6."     It  may  seem  absurd  to  you,  as 


Taking  Lea  ve  229 


it  certainly  would  to  many  people,  to  say  that 
in  that  song,  so  overflowing  with  nonsense, 
the  old  man  was  making  fun  of  his  deepest 
thoughts  and  feelings,  —  fun  because  they  lay 
too  deep  for  words.  Villa  Tennyson,  so  named 
after  his  friend,  was  a  bachelor's  home  of 
mixed  comfort  and  discomfort,  with  its  gar- 
den of  half-tropical  flowers  going  down  to  the 
shore  on  which  the  blue  Mediterranean  was 
ever  lapping,  while  the  thick  olive  woods  were 
sloping  up  the  hills.  It  is  impossible  not 
to  think  of  the  abode  "  in  the  middle  of  the 
woods,  on  the  Coast  of  Coromandel,  where 
the  early  pumpkins  blow,"  or  to  look  up  and 
down  in  imagination  the  dusty  highroad  which 
runs  east  and  uoi,  and  not  expect  to  see  the 
heap  of  stones  on  which  the  Lady  Jingly  Jones 
might  be  sitting,  with  her  milk-white  hens  of 
Dorking.  I  have  not  the  least  ground  for 
saying  that  these  fictions  have  any  foundation 
in  fact ;  but  there  they  are,  as  the  good  old 
man  has  given  them  to  us. 

J    stt-r.    Do  you  think  that  Lear  would  have 
said,  with  Wordsworth's  Matthew,  — 

"  If  th'-re  be  one  who  need  bemoan 
kindred  bud  in  earth, 
The  hou  its  that  were  his  own, 

It  is  the  in, ui  of  mirth 

The  Squire.    J  do  not  know  :  but  the  "house- 
hold  hearts"   of  old   Matthew  were   those   of 


230  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


wife  and  child,  and  these  Lear  had  not.  You 
are  right  to  remember  that  Wordsworth  is  not 
deploring  old  age  generally,  but  the  old  age  of 
the  man  of  mirth.  Wordsworth  liked  paradox, 
as  his  great  "  Ode  on  Immortality  "  shows  ;  and 
those  beautiful  lines  on  Matthew  are  full  of  it. 

Foster.  What  do  you  mean  by  paradox  ?  Is 
not  what  he  says  true  ? 

The  Squire.  It  seems  to  be  becoming  the 
fashion  to  use  "  paradox  "  as  a  fine  expression 
for  "false;"  but  "paradox"  properly  means 
"  contrary  to  common  opinion,"  and  it  may  be 
used  in  either  the  good  or  the  bad  sense.  It 
may  be  a  true  or  a  false  statement,  according 
as  the  popular  opinion  which  it  contravenes  is 
right  or  wrong.  In  the  poem  you  refer  to, 
Wordsworth,  with  dramatic  propriety,  puts  into 
the  mouth  of  Matthew  the  paradoxical  asser- 
tion that 

"  the  wiser  mind 
Mourns  less  for  what  age  takes  away 
Than  what  it  leaves  behind." 

Now,  this  is  untrue  as  a  general  proposition, 
though  true  of  the  particular  case  to  which 
Matthew  afterwards  limits  it;  and  the  para- 
doxical effect  is  produced  by  his  first  putting 
it  forward  as  if  the  general  proposition  were 
true.  It  is  not  true  that  the  old  man  who  can 
no  longer  see  to  read  regrets  this  less  than  he 
does  that  he  can  still  see  the  trees  and  the 


Taking  Leave  231 


sunshine  and  the  faces  of  those  dear  to  him ; 
for  he  does  not  regret  at  all,  but  is  very  glad 
that  all  these  are  still  left  to  him.  It  is  be- 
cause so  much  is  left  behind  that  the  old  man 
is  able  to  bear  with  so  little  regret  the  loss  of 
what  age  takes  away.  But  when  Matthew  goes 
on  to  define  and  limit  his  statement,  it  becomes 
clear  and  true  enough.  He  is  speaking  of  the 
"  man  of  mirth,"  of  the  man  of  mirth  in  his 
old  age,  whose  kindred  are  in  the  grave  ;  then, 
when  tender  but  now  hardly  sad  memories  of 
the  "household  hearts  that  were  his  own" 
come  upon  him,  and  he  can  say,  "The  will  of 
God  be  done,"  it  jars  on  him  to  be  asked  to 
play  the  fool  for  the  amusement  of  the  thought- 
less though  affectionate  youth  who  knows  no- 
thing—  for  he  has  had  no  experience — of 
these  things. 

Foster.  You  spoke  of  dramatic  propriety.  I 
suppose  you  refer  to  Wordsworth's  own  ex- 
planation that  he  had  not  given  a  matter-of-fact 
description  of  the  active  old  schoolmaster  of 
Uawkshead,  but  a  poetical  picture,  in  which, 
as  in  that  of  the  Wanderer,  In-  had  introduced 
traits  of  character  from  other  men,  so  as  to 
make  a  dramatic  whole.  These  are  not  his 
words,  hut,  if  I  remember  rightly,  this  is  the 
<;  of  them. 

The  S,juire.  So  I  understand  him.  True 
poet   as  he  is,  he  gives  us  no   abstract  philo- 


232  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

sophical  disquisition  on  old  age  in  general,  or 
portrait  of  an  actual  old  man  ;  nor,  what  would 
be  no  less  undramatic  and  untrue  to  nature,  a 
picture  of  a  Frankenstein  in  whom  all  char- 
acteristics of  all  old  men  are  brought  into  an 
impossible  combination.  Those  three  poems, 
"Matthew,"  "The  Two  April  Mornings,"  and 
"  The  Fountain,"  make  up  one  work  of  art  of 
a  very  perfect  kind.  It  will  bear  any  analysis 
and  any  criticism,  and  come  out  all  the  brighter 
and  the  more  beautiful. 

Foster.  I  see  what  you  mean.  The  Matthew 
of  Wordsworth  is  an  ideal  man,  and  so  having 
the  individuality,  and  therefore  the  limitations, 
of  any  real  man,  and  without  which  he  would 
be  a  mere  monster,  and  not  a  man  at  all.  He 
is  "  a  gray-haired  man  of  glee,"  who  even  in 
his  old  age  still  carries  his  love  of  fun  to  such 
a  height  that  it  may  be  properly  called  "  mad- 
ness." But  in  all  this  mad  fun  there  come 
intervals  of  deep  melancholy  and  sadness, 
such  as  indeed  I  suppose  we  all  have  noticed 
in  men  of  wild  high  spirits.  So  much  I  see ; 
but  does  he  not  mean  more  than  this  ? 

The  Squire.  The  poet  brings  out  the  rest  by 
the  introduction  of  the  other  personage  of  the 
drama,  himself,  as  he  was  the  youthful,  and 
therefore  thoughtless  though  affectionate  com- 
panion of  the  old  man.  In  after  years  he 
remembered,  what  he  could   not  at  the  time 


Taking  Leave  233 


understand,  that,  in  answer  to  his  youthful 
demand  for  renewed  fun,  old  Matthew  would 
give  way  to  the  melancholy  reflection  that  men 
like  himself 

"  Are  pressed  by  heavy  laws ; 
And  often,  glad  no  more, 
We  wear  a  face  of  joy,  because 
We  have  been  glad  of  yore." 

It  is  not  the  loss  of  his  Emma  which  now 
makes  him  sad,  —  he  can  think  of  it,  and  say 
from  his  heart,  "The  will  of  God  be  done;" 
but  he  thinks  that  if  he  had  still  with  him  "the 
household  hearts  that  were  his  own,"  he  might, 
like  the  birds,  sing  his  merry  carols,  or  be 
silent  and  forgetful  at  his  own  will,  and  not 
be  bound,  as  he  now  is,  to  pay  that  heavy  price 
for  the  affection,  real  though  it  is,  of  his 
youthful  friend.  What  a  pathos  there  is  in  the 
reply  of  the  old,  childless  man  to  the  youth's 
offer,  at  once  affectionate  and  thoughtless, — 
what  should  he  know  of  death?  —  when  he 
offers  himself  to  supply  the  place  of  the  chil- 
dren gone  ! 

"  Alas'  it  cannot  be." 

Perhaps  we  might  say  that  the  craving,  the 
unsatisfied  'raving  for  sympathy,  at  any  cost, 
note,  the  motive,  of  this  beautiful 
little  trilogy.  Yet  those  are  not  the  last  words. 
The  poet,  true  to  life  ami  to  his  art,  ends  with 
the  old  man,  after  all,  .singing  again   the  witty 


234  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

rhymes  about  the  crazy  clock.  Soldiers  strike 
up  a  merry  tune  as  they  march  back  from  the 
burial  of  a  comrade.  Joy,  not  sorrow,  is  the 
last  word. 

"  The  dead  are  not  dead,  but  alive  I  " 

It  was  time  for  me  to  be  going.  We  joined 
the  ladies  in  the  Great  Parlor,  and  the  elder 
lady  said,  "We  are  sorry  you  must  go,  Mr. 
Foster,  but  I  hope  you  will  keep  your  promise." 
The  Squire  asked,  "What  was  that?  "  And  his 
daughter-in-law  replied,  "We  told  Mr.  Foster 
of  the  custom  of  the  Guest  Book  at  my  un- 
cle's, in  which  every  visitor  is  expected  to 
write  something,  on  his  going  away.  And  we 
proposed  that  he  should  give  us  some  such 
farewell." 

The  Squire.  Well,  Foster,  what  did,  or  do, 
you  say  ? 

Foster.  I  quoted  Puffendorf  and  Grotius,  or 
at  least  Shakespeare  and  Walter  Scott:  — 


and 


"  Stand  not  upon  the  order  of  your  going, 
But  go  at  once ; " 

"'On,  Stanley,  on!' 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion  ;  " 


and  I  suggested,   though    the  lines  were  not 
very  complimentary  to  myself,  — 

"  He  fitted  the  halter  and  traversed  the  cart, 
And  often  took  leave,  yet  seemed  loath  to  depart." 


Takifig  Leave  235 


But  I  was  told  that  none  of  these  were  original, 
and  so  I  promised  to  produce  something  of  my 
own. 

The  Squire.    And  what  is  it  ? 

Foster.  I  must  make  a  confession.  I  had 
cudgeled  my  prosaic  brains  to  no  purpose, 
vainly  trying  to  say  something  appropriate. 
Then  I  thought  of  your  translation  of  what 
Sa'di  had  said  on  a  like  occasion  ;  and  I  have 
made  a  paraphrase  of  that.  (Takes  a  paper 
from  his  pocket  and  reads.) 

Through  France  and  Germany  I  've  wandered, 

And  sometimes  laughed,  and  sometimes  pondered 

How  men  in  country  and  in  city 

Were  rude  or  friendly,  dull  or  witty. 

I  've  lived  in  Naples  and  in  Rome, 

Hut  nothing  like  this  English  home 

In  all  my  travels  did  I  find, 

No  place  so  fair,  no  folk  so  kind, 

Nor  of  such  genial  heart  and  mind. 

And  now  my  holiday  is  done, 

And  I,  unwilling,  must  be  gone. 

I  still  would  keep  the  memory  green 

of  all  that  I  have  heard  and  Been  : 

mented  wall, 
'I  be  portraits  hanging  in  the  Hall, 

nd  the  Water!. ill, 

f«  Tower, 
'arloi  and  her  Bower ; 
• 
When  hi  t  and  won  , 

The  •  talk  we  had  to  :■  thi  r, 

"Whatn  'How'*  the  weather?" 

changing  to  a  loftier  itraln, 
mid  rise  and  fall,  and  lisc  again, 


236  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

And  tell  of  all  I  loved  to  hear : 

Of  Shakespeare,  Milton,  Maurice,  Lear; 

Of  Persian  Poets  ;  how  men  read 

The  language  of  the  Arrowhead  ; 

Of  Love  and  Marriage,  Life  and  Death ; 

Of  worlds  above,  around,  beneath. 

Nor,  Ladies,  is  the  day  forgot 

When  we  rode  down  to  Camelot, 

And  Arthur,  Launcelot,  and  Elaine 

Seemed  in  that  hour  to  live  again. 

And  though  I  take  a  careless  leave, 

Nor  wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve, 

These  memories  never  will  decay 

Nor  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 

The  Squire.  Bravo,  Foster  !  Your  version  of 
Sa'di  reminds  me  of  Sir  John  Cutmore's  silk 
stockings,  which  were  mended  with  worsted 
till  there  was  not  a  thread  of  the  old  silk  left. 

Foster.  I  do  not  pretend  to  compare  myself 
with  Sa'di ;  but  if  I  had  five  minutes  to  spare, 
I  should  like  to  appeal  to  the  judgment  of  the 
ladies,  as  to  the  silk  stockings,  by  reading  your 
translation  of  the  Persian  lines.1 

Then  came  the  English  good-by,  which  says 
so  little  and  means  so  much ;  and  as  I  left  the 
room  I  heard  the  Squire  say,  half  to  himself, 
"  And,  faith,  he  '11  prent  it." 

I  crossed  the  north  court,  and  as  I  passed 
through  the  gateway  in  the  wall  I  looked  back, 
and  saw  the  Squire,  with  his  children  and 
grandchildren,  standing  at  the  door  under  the 
tower. 

1  See  Appendix. 


APPENDIX. 

INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    BCSTAN    OF   SHAIKH 
MUSHLIHU-D-DfN  SA'DI  SHIR^zf. 

I  desire  to  acknowledge  that,  though  not  unfamiliar  with 
the  original,  I  have,  from  lack  of  eyesight  or  a  Persian  reader, 
availed  myself  in  making  this  translation  of  the  more  literal 
version  and  the  notes  of  Colonel  H.  Wilberforce,  Clarke,  R.  E. 

IN    THE    NAME   OF   GOD,    THE    MERCIFUL,   THE   COM- 
PASSIONATE! 

In  the  Lord's  name !    Who  did  all  life  create! 
The  Wise!    Who  taught  man  speech  articulate! 
The  Lord,  the  Giver,  the  Help  in  time  of  need ! 
The  Merciful !    Who  hears  when  sinners  plead! 
The  Great!    From  Him  who  so  shall  turn  away, 
Greatness  shall  seek  in  vain,  seek  where  he  may; 
Kings,  who  lift  up  their  heads  in  pride  of  place, 
Bowed  down  before  His  throne  themselves  abase. 
He  is  not  quick  to  judge  the  unruly  heart, 
Nor  pleading  culprits  sternly  bid  depart. 
The  Sea  of  Knowledge,  infinite,  divine, 
Doth  in  eai  h  drop  tw<>  elements  i  ombine  : 
Justice  and  Mercy,  —  neither  of  these  can  fall  ; 
!(•    ees  tbi      n,  and,  pitying,  draws  the  veil. 
Though  evil  deeds  bring  down  the  wrath  of  Heaven, 
H    who  turn-,  bai  k,  repentant,  is  forgiven. 

inst  a  father  should  a  son  n  CM  1, 

I  wrath  the  father  v  breast  wiM  swell  j 

leased,  the  kinsman  owns  his  kin  no  more, 

.tit  like  a  stranger  from  his  door  : 


238  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

If  to  thy  friend  thou  shouldst  unfriendly  be, 

He  breaks  the  fellowship  and  flies  from  thee : 

The  servant  slothful  in  his  daily  tasks 

Promotion  of  his  master  vainly  asks  : 

And  if  the  soldier  in  his  duty  fail, 

No  plea  will  with  his  king  and  chief  avail :  — 

But  He,  Lord  of  the  noble  and  the  base, 

Against  no  rebel  shuts  the  door  of  grace. 

The  fair  Earth  is  his  table,  duly  spread ; 

He  asks  not,  "  Friend  or  foe?"    Welcomed  are  all,  and 

fed. 
If  he  were  quick  to  mark  iniquity, 
Who  from  His  anger  could  in  safety  be? 
His  nature  knows  no  change  :  His  kingdom  stands 
Needing  no  help  from  man's  or  angel's  hands. 
All  things,  all  persons,  serve  His  kingly  state; 
Man,  beast,  fowl,  ant,  and  fly,  upon  Him  wait. 
For  them  His  Bounteous  table  He  prepares ; 
Which  even  the  lonely,  far  off  Simurgh  1  shares. 
That  bounteous  love  in  all  His  works  He  shows; 
He  grasps  the  world,  and  all  its  secrets  knows. 
His  Will  is  law,  His  greatness  all  things  own, 
Whose  kingdom  is  of  old,  with  rivals  none. 
On  one  man's  head  He  sets  a  monarch's  crown, 
One  from  a  throne  He  to  the  dust  brings  down. 
From  Him  the  cap  of  fortune  this  receives, 
To  that  the  beggar's  garb  of  rags  He  gives. 
If  He  should  bid  unsheath  the  avenging  sword, 
The  Cherubim,  silent,  obey  His  word: 
Should  He  proclaim  the  fulness  of  His  grace, 
The  Lost  One  cries,  "  I,  too,  have  there  a  place." 
Before  the  greatness  of  His  royal  state, 
The  great  ones  of  the  earth  their  pride  abate ; 

1  The  Phoenix  or  Griffin  of  Oriental  legend  dwells  at  the 
end  of  the  world. 


Appendix  239 

To  those  who  are  distressed,  in  mercy  near, 

And  ready  still  the  suppliant's  prayer  to  hear. 

Things  yet  to  be  are  present  to  His  eye, 

Secrets  untold  before  Him  open  lie. 

All  heights  and  depths  confess  his  guardian  hand ; 

Before  his  judgment  seat  all  peoples  stand : 

None  but  bow  down  before  Him  and  obey ; 

None  on  His  work  a  censuring  finger  lay. 

Planned  in  His  mind  unborn  creation  stood, 

He  called  it  forth,  and  saw  that  it  was  good. 

From  East  to  West  the  Sun  and  Moon  He  sent 

And  o'er  the  waters  spread  the  firmament. 

The  world  with  earthquake  reel'd  till  on  its  edge 

He  firmly  fixed  each  mountain  like  a  wedge. 

The  sons  of  men  in  angel's  form  He  made, 

But  must  not  paintings  on  the  water  fade  ? 

He  sets  the  rose  upon  the  branch  of  green, 

Ruby  and  turquoise  hides  in  rock  unseen. 

Should  seed  on  land,  raindrop  on  ocean  fall,1 

This  makes  the  pearl,  and  that  the  cypress  tall. 

No  atom  can  to  Him  remain  unknown 

To  Whom  the  seen  and  the  unseen  are  one. 

Foi  snake  and  ant  He  daily  food  prepares, 

Although  nor  hands  nor  feet  nor  strength  are  theirs. 

All  things  to  be  I  [e  in  His  mind  portrayed  ; 

Of  things  that  are  not,  things  that  are,  lie  made: 

Then  bade  all  things  to  nothin  turn 

.  wait  the  resnrrr-.  tion  morn. 
I!  rnal,  all  confers  ; 

H  none  can  guess. 

II     m       •■.  and  Power  arc  infinite  : 

■  in,  no  WOT( 

The  bird,  [maginatii  In  vain, 

1    1       1  .,1  the  pearl  •■■  I  '-'in 

which  had  fallen  into  U  'pen  ...  iter,  and  tilde  Ix-cn  tians- 
mutcd. 


240  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

The  hilltops  of  His  being  to  attain  : 

Reason,  upon  a  sea  of  storm-tost  waves 

Embarked,  those  whirling  waters  vainly  braves  : 

A  thousand  ships  have  in  that  sea  gone  down, 

And  not  one  plank  upon  the  shore  is  thrown. 

Whole  nights  I  sat,  lost  to  the  world  around, 

As  were  my  spirit  on  some  journey  bound  : 

When  a  strange  terror  took  me  by  surprise, 

And  plucked  me  by  the  sleeve,  and  said,  "  Arise." 

God,  by  His  knowledge,  rules  His  kingdom  well : 

The  mazes  of  His  Nature  none  can  tell. 

His  substance  hidden  deep  from  human  eye, 

His  attributes,  by  thought  unfathomed,  lie. 

To  Souhbar's 1  eloquence  we  may  attain, 

To  know  God's  nature  we  shall  search  in  vain. 

Rash  man  upon  this  quest  may  urge  his  horse, 

But  words  of  warning2  check  his  eager  course  : 

It  is  not  always  well  to  ride  at  speed  ; 

'T  is  sometimes  better  to  hold  in  your  steed. 

And  should  the  traveller  find  that  hidden  way, 

The  door  of  his  return  is  shut  for  aye. 

Who  of  the  chalice  at  that  banquet  drink, 

Entranced,  their  senses  in  oblivion  sink. 

That  hawk  has  seeled  eyes  to  Heaven  unturned, 

This  with  eyes  open,  and  with  feathers  burned.8 

None  on  the  treasure  of  Karoon4  has  come, 

Or,  finding  it,  has  found  the  road  back  home. 

He  who  that  journey  and  that  search  would  make, 

Thought  of  return  forever  must  forsake. 

Perfumes  of  Love  Divine  around  thee  play, 

1  An  Arab  poet. 

2  La  a/tsa.    "  His  praises  are  more  than  can  be  numbered." 
I  suppose  the  words  are  from  the  Koran. 

8  That  is,  by  the  fire  of  divine  love. 

4  A  hero  of  the  family  of  Moses  and  Aaron  in  Arabian 
legend,  supposed  to  possess  great  treasures. 


Appendix  241 


He  asks,  "  Am  I  thy  God  ? "  »    Thou  answ'rest,  "  Yea." 
Seek  out  with  earnest  search  the  things  above ; 
Thence  to  God's  Presence  rise  on  wings  of  love. 
By  Truth  the  veils  of  earth  and  sense  are  riven, 
And  Glory  is  the  only  veil  of  Heaven.2 
Seek'st  thou  by  earthly  roads  to  find  thy  way  ? 
Surprise  will  seize  thy  rein  and  bid  thee  stay. 
( >nly  man's  Guardian  has  crossed  o'er  that  sea, 
And  those  whom  he  has  bidden  —  "Follow  me." 
He  who  has  journeyed  on,  without  this  Friend, 
Worn-out,  has  failed  to  reach  his  journey's  end. 
Oh,  Sa'di,  think  not  man  has  ever  gone 
Along  the  Path  of  Holiness  alone, 
But  only  he  who  treads  behind  the  Chosen  One. 

IN  PRAISE  OF  THE  PROPHET:  TO  HIM  BE  PEACE. 

Generous  of  disposition  !    Full  of  grace  ! 
Prophet  and  Intercessor  of  our  race  ! 
Chief  of  the  Prophets  !    Leader  of  the  road  ! 
Faithful  to  God  !    Where  Gabriel  found  abode  !8 
The  Guide  !    The  Intercessor !    Lord  of  all 
Gathered  for  judgment  at  the  last  Great  Call ! 

1  It  is  related  of  the  preexisting  souls  of  the  descendants 
of  Adam,  that  were  to  be,  that  each  was  asked  by  the  Creator, 
"  Am  I  thy  (><A  ' "  Each  soul  that  answered  "  Yes  "  was  born 
to  be  a  follower  of  Mohammed,  while  those  that  were  silent 
were  born  to  be  infidels. 

3    The    tara-pardah —  the   curtain  drawn  the  throne 

of  the  1  to  hide  him  from  the  public  gaze 

the  veil  before  the  M  it  In  the  Jewish  Temple  m  the 

symi,  v. inn-    And  the  words  of  Sa'di,, "  there 

i       ah  bat  glory,"  correspond  exactly  to 
■    Paul    •  Dwelling  in  the  light  which  no  man  can 
roach  unt" 
»  Faithfully  recording  in  the  Koran  the  revelation!,  brought 
down  by  Gabriel  from  God. 


242  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Speaker  from  out  the  heavenly  Sinai's  height! 

All  other  lights  but  borrowed  from  that  light! 

His  one  Book,  while  it  yet  unfinished  lay, 

Purged  libraries  of  other  faiths  away : 

When  he  in  wrath  the  sword  of  terror  drew 

By  miracle  he  cleft  the  Moon  in  two ! 

His  fame,  when  through  the  world  its  course  it  took, 

The  Courts  of  Kings  as  with  an  earthquake  shook  ! 

"THERE  IS  NO  GOD  BUT  GOD:"  — Lo!  at  that 

sound 
The  idols  Lat  and  'Uzza  bit  the  ground.1 
Those  idols'  dust  he  scattered  to  the  wind 
While  ever  the  truer  faiths  he  left  behind. 
One  night  he  sat,  in  vision  rapt,  and  through 
The  Heavens  he  passed,  as  towards  God's  throne  he 

drew, 
And  through  the  angel  hosts  he  passed  his  way 
In  majesty  and  grandeur  more  than  they  : 
He  onward  passed  the  nearer  road  to  find 
While  even  Gabriel  remained  behind. 
"  Mount  boldly  higher  "  (the  Prophet  thus  began), 
"  Thou  Bearer  of  the  Word  of  God  to  Man : 
When  thou  didst  me  sincere  in  friendship  prove, 
Why  didst  thou  thus  draw  in  the  reins  of  love  ?" 
Gabriel  replied,  "  No  power  to  mount  have  I ; 
Higher  my  wings  are  powerless  to  fly : 
Should  I  one  hair's  breadth  higher  attempt  a  flight 
I  burn  my  wings  in  that  effulgent  light." 
None  for  his  sins  in  prison  need  remain 
Who  can,  for  guide,  a  lord  like  thee  obtain. 
To  thee  what  praise  acceptable  can  be ! 
O  Prophet  of  our  race,  peace  be  on  thee ! 
May  angels'  benedictions  on  thee  rest, 

1  Lat  or  Alliat  and  Al  'Uzza  were  two  of  the  three  idol  god- 
desses of  the  Arabians  which  were  destroyed  by  Muhammed. 


Appendix  243 

And  with  thee  be  thy  friends  and  followers  blest  I 

0  happy  Guide,  no  loss  of  dignity 

Falls  on  thee  in  the  Court  of  the  Most  High, 

When  some  poor  humble  uninvited  guest 

Goes  in  with  thee  to  share  the  heavenly  feast. 

God's  praise  and  honor  rested  on  thy  head 

While  Gabriel  kissed  the  ground  where  thou  didst  tread. 

The  Heavens  bow  down  before  a  higher  than  they, 

Not  made,  like  man,  of  water  and  mere  clay. 

First  of  create  existence  thou  ;  from  thee 

All  else  existent  only  offshoots  be. 

What  can  I  say  to  thee  !    No  words  of  mine 

Can  speak  the  praises  that  are  rightly  thine : 

It  matters  not:  the  Book,  in  heaven-sent  words 

1  0  all  thy  greatness  honor  due  accords.1 
What  more  can  Sa'di,  humble  poet,  say? 

0  Prophet,  blessings  be  on  thee  alway ! 

THE    REASON    FOR    COMPOSING    THE    ROOK. 

Through  many  far-off  lands  I,  wondering,  went; 
With  men  of  every  kind  my  days  I  spent: 
To  me  each  corner  did  some  pleasure  yield, 

1  gleaned  some  ears  from  every  harvest  field. 
So  pure  of  heart,  and  of  such  humble  mind, 

ne  like  the  men  of  Shiraz  did  I  find  : 
I      •  \>r  that  land  I    It  won  my  heart  ;iway 

I  1  1  ities  famOUfl  f'>r  Im|>cri;d  m 

"I   ■■••  tO  leave  iir, 

And  not  tome  token  t<>  my  friendi  to  b 
Methooght,  when  1  rs  from  I  me, 

,  bring  I  ts  to  their  b  I  home : 

And  if  no  in  my  hand  I  bring, 

•  ts  sing. 

1  Alluding  t*>  the  wordi  in  the  Koran,  "  But  f"i  thee,  O 
Mohammed,  I  bad  not  created  the  sky." 


2  44  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

Those  sugared  sweetmeats  men  but  seem  to  eat, 

In  books  the  wise  store  up  the  real  sweet. 

A  palace  of  Instruction  then  I  framed, 

And  set  therein  ten  gates,  which  thus  I  named:  — 

First,  Justice,  Counsel,  Order,  How  kings  should  reign, 

And  in  the  fear  of  God  their  rule  maintain : 

The  next  Beneficence,  by  which  we  can 

Praise  God  in  dealing  forth  His  gifts  to  Man. 

The  third,  Love  :  —  not  of  passion  and  of  sense 

In  man,  but  Love  of  God,  deep  and  intense. 

The  fourth,  Humility:  Resignation  next. 

The  sixth,  Contentment,  by  no  troubles  vexed. 

The  seventh,  Education;  how  to  rule 

And  train  yourself,  and  in  your  heart  keep  school. 

The  eighth,  Thanksgiving  for  the  Almighty's  care  : 

The  ninth,  Repentance ;  and  the  tenth  gate,  Prayer. 

In  an  auspicious  day,  and  happy  hour, 

And  in  the  year  six  hundred  fifty-four,1 

My  Book  I  finished,  filled  this  treasury 

"With  store  of  pearls,  of  truth  and  poetry. 

But  still  I  fear  my  jewels  to  display  ; 

And  on  my  hands  my  head  in  doubt  I  lay  ! 

For  oyster  shells  and  pearls  are  in  one  sea, 

One  garden  holds  the  scrub-bush  and  the  tree, 

Yet  have  I  heard,  O  man  of  generous  mind, 

The  generous  critic  loves  not  fault  to  find; 

The  silken  robe  with  gay  embroidery  shines, 

Yet  that  silk  robe  a  cotton  quilting  lines. 

Then  if  the  cotton  in  my  verse  you  see, 

Be  not  severe,  but  hide  it  generously. 

I  boast  not  of  my  costly  wares,  but  stand 

And  humbly  ask  for  alms  with  out-held  hand. 

I  have  heard  that  in  the  day  of  hope  and  fear, 

1  But  that  "rhymes  the  rudders  are  of  verses,"  this  date 
should  be  655  A.  H.,  answering  to  1250  A.  d. 


Appendix  245 


That  day  when  all  before  the  Judge  appear, 
He  will,  in  mercy,  bid  them  all  to  live, 
And  for  the  righteous'  sake  the  bad  forgive. 
Thou,  too,  if  badness  in  my  verse  shouldst  see, 
Do  thou  likewise :  be  merciful  to  me. 
When  in  a  thousand  one  good  verse  you  find 
Withhold  your  censure,  be  humane  and  kind. 
Of  such  a  work  as  mine  't  is  true,  indeed, 
That  Persia  land  of  letters  has  no  need  : 
Far  off  with  awe  you  hear  me,  like  a  drum, 
But  find  the  music  rough  when  near  I  come. 
You  say,  What  brings  this  Sa'di,  bold-faced  man  ? 
Roses  to  rose  beds,  pepper  to  Hindustan  ? 
So,  too,  the  date  with  sugar-encrusted  skin :  — 
You  strip  it  back,  and  find  a  bone  within. 

THE   PRAISE  OF  ABU   BAKR.1 

I  was  no  courtier,  born  and  prompt  to  sing 
With  courtier's  tongue  the  praises  of  a  king: 
But  in  the  coming  times  might  question  be 
Of  one  who  threaded  pearls  of  poesy  ; 
When  Sa'di  bore  the  palm  of  verse  away 
Who  then  was  King  ?    "  Abu-Bakr,"  we  might  say. 
No  unfit  boast  —  the  Prophet  even  would  tell 
That  in  the  Just  King's  days  his  own  birth    fell.8 
Oh,  Guardian  of  the  faith,  the  law,  the  throne, 

ince  (  'in .11  'a  has  like  thine  been  known  ! 
Chief  of  the  chief  ones,  crown'd  among  the  crown'd, 
And  still  for  justice  through  the  world  renown'd; 

!!•  ;■.' '.     heltei  from  life's  stormy  blast 

II-  re,  and  here  only,  shelter  finds  at  la 

1  The  n  Itabaka  named  by  the  poet 

were  in  surr.>ssion  from  f .it t  Z.ini;i,  S.i'd,  Abu  IJ.ikr, 

Mubammed  Sa'cL 

-  Nausbirwan.     Mnhamma  I  was  born  in  the  time 

of  the  Just  King." 


246  Talk  at  a  Country  House 


Welcome  that  door  to  all  who  fly  from  wrong 

As  men  by  each  broad  road  to  Mecca  throng. 

In  no  land  else  so  rich  a  heritage 

I  see  for  prince  and  people,  youth  and  age. 

No  sorrower  to  this  prince  his  grief  imparts, 

But  finds  with  him  a  balm  tor  suffering  hearts. 

About  his  crown  the  skies  their  splendor  shed, 

While  on  the  ground  he  humbly  bows  his  head. 

'T  is  natural  that  the  poor  should  sue  and  wait : 

But  humbleness  shows  goodness  in  the  great ; 

The  common  man  the  common  road  has  trod, 

The  humble  ruler  is  a  man  of  God. 

The  monarch's  liberal  doings  now  may  hide, 

The  sound  thereof  though  all  the  world  spreads  wide. 

So  wise  a  man,  so  worthy  of  his  lot, 

The  world,  since  world  it  was,  remembers  not. 

In  this  thy  day  no  sorrower  grieves  for  wrong 

Wrought  by  the  Oppressor's  grasp  unjust  and  strong. 

Such  Government,  such  customs,  and  such  law 

Not  ev'n  Firidun  '  in  his  glory  saw. 

Great  is  his  honor  in  the  Almighty's  sight, 

That  he  upholds  the  weak  ones  by  his  might. 

Over  the  world  his  shadow  so  is  spread 

That  lawless  force  awakes  in  age  no  dread. 

Men  bear  with  groans,  in  every  age  and  clime, 

The  changes  and  the  violence  of  the  time. 

Oh,  mighty  monarch,  under  thy  just  reign 

Of  wrongs  of  time  and  fortune  none  complain. 

Thy  people  dwell  in  peace ;  but  after  thee, 

I  know  not  what  that  people's  end  will  be. 

But  happy  thine  own  fortune,  on  that  morn 

When  Sa'di  in  thy  land  and  day  was  born. 

So  long  the  sun  and  moon  still  climb  the  sky, 

The  memory  of  thy  name  shall  live  for  aye. 

1  Firidun  was  said  to  have  reigned  in  Persia  in  750  B.  C. 


Appendix  247 

If  former  kings  a  name  for  good  have  won, 

They  learned  the  way  to  walk  from  sire  to  son : 

But  Thou,  by  thine  own  rule,  dost  far  outshine 

The  gathered  glories  of  a  royal  line. 

Alexander  built  a  wall  of  stone  and  brass 

The  hordes  of  Gog  and  Magog  might  not  pass:1 

When  o'er  the  world  the  hordes  of  Changis  roll'd 

The  wall  that  saved  thy  kingdom  was  of  gold. 

The  poet  who,  in  thy  just  rule  secure, 

Sings  not  thy  praises,  let  him  sing  no  more. 

Oh,  sea  of  bounty,  of  all  gifts  the  mine, 

We  seek  for  aid  and  find  our  life  in  thine. 

I  cannot  count  the  virtues  of  the  king, 

Nor  can  within  this  book  their  record  bring, 

If  Sa'di  would  thy  virtues  tell  aright, 

Truly  another  book  he  must  indite. 

But  cease  from  thanks  fur  all  thy  generous  care : 

'T  is  better  that  I  spread  the  hand  of  prayer! 

The  world  be  at  thy  feet,  and  Heaven  thy  friend  I 

The  world's  Creator  keep  thee  and  defend ! 

Thy  star,  ascendant,  lights  up  all  the  skies, 

And  with  its  fire  burns  up  thine  enemies. 

Let  not  the  revolutions  of  the  age 

Bring  grief  to  thee,  on  thee  pour  out  its  rage: 

A  single  sorrow  in  the  heart  of  kings 

To  a  whole  world  a  world-wide  sorrow  brings. 

Tranquil  and  prosperous  be  thy  he.irt  and  land, 

Blest  be  the  kingdom  guided  by  thine  hand. 

Like  thy  true  faith,  sound  may  thy  body  be  I 

Weak,  like  his  own  I  1,  thine  enemy  I 

U  that    he  built  a 
wall  of  brau  and  and  Magog,  thai  It, 

the   Scythians.      'I  he    later    I  'igCs) 

Khan,  resembling  '  I   tic  ii    devastation!  and 

probably  of  the  same  race,  were  bought  off  by  /\i 


248  Talk  at  a  Country  House 

May  God's  strength  fill  with  joy  thine  inward  parts, 

And  in  thy  faith  make  glad  thy  people's  hearts! 

May'st  thou  with  the  Creator  mercy  find. 

Should  I  say  more  't  were  empty  talk  and  wind. 

It  is  enough  that  the  Almighty  one 

Doth  still  increase  the  welfare  of  thy  throne. 

Sa'd  did  not  quit  the  world  with  pain,  when  he 

Begat  a  son  to  be  renowned  like  thee. 

That  such  a  noble  branch  as  this  should  spring 

From  the  pure  stock  of  Sa'd,  count  no  strange  thing; 

For  though  his  body  to  the  dust  be  given, 

His  soul  triumphant  dwells  in  highest  Heaven. 

O  God,  send  showers  of  grace  and  mercy  down, 

And  make  the  memory  green  of  Sa'd's  renown ! 

With  guiding  hand  fulfil  his  grandson's  claim, 

To  share  Sa'd's  honor  as  he  shares  his  name. 

IN   PRAISE  OF   MUHAMMED  SA'D,   SON   OF  ABU-BAKR. 
Son  of  Abti-Bakr !  heir  to  crown  and  throne  I 
Muhammed  Sa'd!  good  fortune  all  thine  own. 
Fresh  in  thy  fortunes,  wise  among  thy  peers : 
Old  in  deliberation,  young  in  years ! 
Lofty  in  spirit,  and  in  wisdom  great, 
Strong  in  thine  arm,  with  hope  thine  heart  elate. 
Happy  the  mother  of  the  time  to  be, 
To  cherish  at  her  breast  a  son  like  thee ! 
No  river  floods  of  bounty  pours  like  thine ; 
Thou  risest,  and  the  Pleiads  cease  to  shine. 
The  eye  of  fortune  beams  upon  thy  face 
Chief  among  Monarchs  in  thy  pride  of  place. 
The  oyster  holds  the  pearls,  yet  know  we  well 
The  pearl 's  the  pearl,  the  oyster  but  the  shell : 
Thou  art  that  hidden  pearl  of  price  we  see, 
The  jewel  of  the  royal  house  in  thee. 
O  God,  preserve  him  by  Thy  grace  from  high  1 
Keep  him  from  injury  and  the  evil  eye  I 


Appendix  249 

O  God,  through  ever)-  land  increase  his  fame; 

And  make  all  men  love  him  who  loves  Thy  Name. 

Now  and  hereafter  grant  his  heart's  desire, 

To  dwell  in  justice,  and  to  Heaven  aspire  I 

Make  the  devices  of  his  foes  to  fail  ; 

Nor  revolutions  of  the  world  prevail ! 

The  Tree  of  Life  still  bears  new  fruit  thereon ; 

The  son  still  seeks  the  fame  his  sire  has  won. 

All  who  speak  evil  of  this  House,  beware, 

Full  evilly  they  and  all  their  house  shall  fare. 

Hail,  Kaith  and  Knowledge!     Law  and  Justice,  Hai! ! 

Hail,  Land  and  Throne,  may  that  rule  never  fail! 


#C! 


Date  Due 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  600  706    6 


N 


